


Coldharbour's Children

by ms_katonic



Series: Cicero Dragonborn [4]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Bisexuality, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Dawnguard, Drama, Dysfunctional Family, F/F, F/M, Forsworn, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Secrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-03 01:22:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 73,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1726007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_katonic/pseuds/ms_katonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year free and the Reach is celebrating. But a new enemy is on the horizon and when he strikes at the heart of Cicero and Eola's families, it'll take all their resources to fight back. That, and help from some unlikely new friends.  Based around the Dawnguard DLC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Only Cure

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to the fourth instalment of the Cicero Dragonborn series! This is all about the Dawnguard DLC, so take a wild guess as to what's likely to happen. Well, you'd be partly on target and partly not, but that is all in the future, yes? The important thing to realise is that there isn't actually going to be a Dawnguard. Volkihars, yes, all present and correct. But no Dawnguard. Way I see it, Cicero's already got the Forsworn, Dark Brotherhood and Companions at his back. We don't really need another faction to hunt vampires, do we now?
> 
> I've been really looking forward to writing this one. I hope you like it.
> 
> Warnings: for non-consensual sexual activity and torture - not in any detail, but it is definitely in this fic.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year free and the Reach is celebrating, with guests invited from far and wide. Some of those guests however are there for business rather than pleasure, and what with Hagravens, unconventional trophy walls and a necromancer king who's closer to his son than he is, Kodlak Whitemane's hating every bit of it.

_To Ria Da Silva ap Cicero, Dragonborn  
From Madanach ap Caradach, King of the Reach_

_Ria machara,_

_I am informed by young Cicero that he is in fact capable of siring children after all, and that you've turned out to be a fellow Dragonborn. As you may imagine, my entire court is fascinated and intrigued by this turn of events and we're all dying to verify this for ourselves._

_I would consider it an honour if you and a friend of your choosing were to attend the Liberation Day festivities in Markarth on the 21st of Evening Star. I'm told you have an arrangement with Vilkas and can certainly arrange a double room at the Keep for you both._

_Do please reply to either myself or my steward as soon as possible and let us know if you're coming. We'd love to see you._

_Anticipating your swift response,  
Madanach_

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

_To Kodlak Whitemane, Harbinger of the Companions  
From Madanach ap Caradach, King of the Reach _

_Harbinger,_

_My daughter has informed me of the unfortunate affliction sustained by her after an encounter with a now deceased member of your order._

_You're a fortunate man – were your son not one of my close associates, I might have to consider taking action against you and yours. As it is, it's in no one's interests for your people and mine to come to blows. I'm also told by my daughter you're as much a victim as she is in your own way._

_My court mage was of no help whatsoever, but fortunately for you, he's not the only source of magical lore I've got at my disposal. My First Matriarch has been looking into a solution and believes she's finally got somewhere._

_We're having a little celebration on the 21st of Evening Star to celebrate the Liberation of the Reach. I suggest you arrange to arrive in the city the day before so we can discuss matters. I've invited Ria as well and recommend you all travel together. There is after all safety in numbers. Should there be any trouble with the border guards, I've attached a writ of passage for you, Ria and two others. My ReachGuard can be a little jumpy about heavily armed Nord mercenaries wandering around, and I'd hate for there to be any trouble now._

_In anticipation of your arrival,  
Madanach_

~~~~~~~~~~

Kodlak tucked the letter away for the hundredth time as he wondered if he was doing the right thing. Attending the Reach Liberation Day festivities. Likely to be raucous, busy and full of fired-up Reachfolk singing rude songs about Nords. Why he'd agreed to this he had no idea.

_Because you want a cure and he's the only one who might have one._

That was true. But it didn't mean this was going to be either fun or pleasurable, in fact Kodlak was fairly certain he was going to hate every second. Also it was too cold out here on the tundra and this carriage was too slow. Mid-afternoon already and they were only just at Broken Tower Redoubt, where the border guards were out in force. Why the Reach felt the need to interrogate everyone crossing into the country when they were all supposed to be part of the same Empire, he had no idea, but the Forsworn were nothing if not paranoid.

“All right, names and business, strangers,” the border guard, a young woman in her early twenties and wearing standard issue Forsworn gear was saying as she approached. Rather more of her colleagues were watching from Broken Tower's ramparts, bows at the ready.

“Kodlak Whitemane,” Kodlak sighed. “Harbinger of the Companions of Jorrvaskr. Here on official business with the Reach-King. These are my comrades Farkas, Vilkas and Ria.”

“Companion, is it?” the young Reachwoman said, eyeing them carefully. “Here on official business? Reach-King never hires Companions. Doesn't need to. He's got us. Try again, Nord.”

He knew it'd be like this. Every single step into this heathen country was going to be like this. ReachGuard wanting to know his business, ReachGuard finding the slightest excuse to harass him, not because of anything he'd done but simply because he was a Nord with a weapon.

The fact that this was likely only the thin end of what the Reachmen had had to put up with from his own kinsmen was scant consolation.

“Here,” he said, reaching for the writ of passage Madanach had sent him. “Will this convince you?”

Guarded looks and sneering as she read and then the sneer died as she stared at the writ's contents.

“Official writ of passage for Kodlak Whitemane and Ria Y Davrhiel ap Cicero – _Ria ap Cicero??_ ” Amazement on her face as she shrieked up to her friends. “By the old gods, it's the Keeper's daughter!”

Silence and then a stampede as the ramparts cleared and then a few minutes later the doors burst open and easily about fifty Forsworn swarmed out, all staring at Ria.

“Is that her? Y Davrhiel bach?”

“She doesn't look like him.”

“Oh, she does a bit. Got his eyes and cheekbones.”

“She's very quiet.”

“They say she's not like him. They say she's... sane!”

“Give over, one of his get being sane?”

“Kodlak,” said Ria nervously. “Kodlak, please tell them to stop staring.” 

The poor girl, she was only twenty two, and had only been a Dragonborn for three months or so. She didn't have the confidence of a true hero of legend yet – not that she wasn't one. She'd fought Miraak after all, and survived. She just wasn't used to it yet.

“Are we to be allowed in to the country then?” Kodlak asked, returning to the subject at hand. “Only I'm an old man and don't really want to be kept waiting all day.”

The Forsworn didn't seem to have heard, but then the door opened again and another one emerged and they all fell silent. A woman, dressed in Forsworn gear but hers gleamed with enchantments and her weapons weren't stone and bone. She had two ebony axes at her waist and a bow and arrows made of the same. This one was someone in authority.

“You know, I don't believe I authorised the entire Redoubt to stop what they were doing and come out here,” she said calmly, and no one in that crowd was meeting her eyes. “Do you all perhaps want to get back to work?”

No one argued, and they all slunk back into the fort, leaving just this woman and the guard who'd stopped their carriage in the first place.

“Now, who do we have?” she said to the young guard, who was blushing and stammering.

“Companions, Brenyeen,” the girl gasped. “Fr – from Jorrvaskr. The old one's the Harbinger, apparently. They had this writ...”

The Brenyeen took the writ, scanned it and glared at the girl. “Official writ from my father and you're holding them up?? Never mind. Back to your post, I'll deal with this. I was about to leave for Markarth anyway, they can give me a lift.”

She smiled sweetly up at him and Kodlak saw the eyes and knew who she was, despite never having met her before. Madanach's elder daughter, Kaie, heir to the throne and a hardened Forsworn loyalist like her sister never had been. Eola might be a Daedra-worshipping Dark Brotherhood assassin but she'd always been polite to him, friendly even. Her sister, on the other hand, had spent her twenties killing Nords for pleasure. And now Kaie ap Madanach had just climbed into the back of their cart and told their driver to start moving, sliding in next to Ria with a fascinated smile.

“So you're Ria,” Kaie purred. “Cicero's daughter! You know I can sort of see it, something in the eyes. Are you really Dragonborn? Can you Shout like he does?”

“Yes she can, would Shouting you out of the cart prove it?” Vilkas remarked, clearly getting a little sick of Reachfolk already.

“Vilkas,” Kodlak said, note of warning in his voice. “We're here as friends, try to act like it. Good day, Reach-Princess. Your father's been kind enough to invite us to the Liberation Day party.”

“So I see,” Kaie said, amused and ignoring Vilkas completely, eyes lighting up as they fell on him. “So you're the Harbinger. Cicero's Da. Well met. You don't look awfully like him, you know.”

“He takes after his mother,” Kodlak said, a tad irritated at this always coming up. Stelmaria had never been unfaithful and Cicero might not look like him but did take after him in other ways. While he complained about the cold like any soft Imperial, if you distracted him enough, it'd be hours before he remembered it was cold and that he was supposed to be complaining, and he apparently powered through frost magic like a true Nord. Kodlak had also found out Cicero had the Nordic ability to send foes fleeing with a powerful Battle Cry, a gift not all Nords were blessed with... but Kodlak was. Cicero's pale skin was also a Nordic trait and he'd thrived in this harsh land like he never had in Cyrodiil, enthusing about how dangerous it all was and how many things and people were trying to kill him and wasn't it _marvellous?_ Say what you would about his mind, you couldn't fault his courage. 

“That doesn't surprise me,” Kaie laughed. “They tell me his ma's sane though, or was. Where'd he get the, you know, oddness from? Clearly not either of you two, you both seem so normal.”

“Twelve years isolation from the entire rest of the world,” Ria snapped, clearly also feeling a bit protective of Cicero. “It does things to a person. Surprised your father never suffered from it.”

“He did,” Kaie said, smile fading. “He just hides it better.” She fell silent, looking away and out at the passing countryside. A strange land, not like anywhere else Kodlak had ever been, but one with its own stark beauty, with its craggy mountains, misty valleys, stunted juniper trees and the Karth carving its way through the landscape. Warmer than the rest of Skyrim too, the Druadachs not high enough to have snow on their peaks but protecting the valleys from the harsh winds that scoured the tundra. The land had much to recommend it, but it wasn't home. Kodlak couldn't feel at ease here. Few Nords did. Magic was woven into this land's very being and Nords who weren't mages generally felt put off by the place. How Elisif coped with spending half of every month here, Kodlak couldn't imagine but, the separation of three months ago aside, the High Queen seemed happy by all accounts.

And so the carriage trundled on, past Karthwasten and a known Hagraven lair which Kaie claimed was just the home of a poor old priestess of the old gods trying to get by, and a few men and women who served her.

Really, this country was quite insane. No wonder Cicero liked it here.

Then Kolskeggr Gold Mine, source of much of the Reach's wealth, and held by the Forsworn long before Liberation Day last year. And then up the hill and round the corner and there was Markarth, glimmering in the sunlight. Quite literally.

“Soul gems,” Kaie explained, a little too smugly for Kodlak's liking. “You put them in a Spriggan and the whole corpse glows! We've got a few on the ramparts and more inside.”

The dead Spriggans weren't the only things on the ramparts. Aside from the typical Forsworn stockading and windbreaks everywhere, and the goat's heads on either side of the city gates, there were the silver and red eagle banners that Madanach favoured that had been there since early in his reign... and a new banner draped over the gateway itself reading 'ANTOL Y MARKARTH AR AUR Y SAOIRSE'.

“Welcome to Markarth for the Day of Liberation,” Kaie translated. “And that's pronounced 'sai-or-shay', by the way. But don't worry, you'll hear it often enough. Son'Aur Y Saoirse, that's Happy Liberation Day, you'll definitely hear that one.”

Kodlak had never really had a head for languages and was surprised to see his fellow Companions seeming to digest this, even Farkas who didn't master complete sentences in Tamrielic until he was eight and still didn't do complex ones now if he could help it. And yet there he was paying rapt attention and not to Kaie's chest either.

“How do you order a beer in the Reach-Tongue?” Farkas asked, which Kodlak did approve of. Farkas was a man of simple and straightforward priorities if nothing else.

“Dodiada mi yn beoir, gwelhin,” Kaie said, seeming surprised but pleased at him taking an interest. “And yeah, beoir is beer, we've never been that imaginative with words for things we didn't invent. If you want wine instead, that's gwin, and mead is milgwin. You might also hear it called Admorfual but don't ask for that at the bar.” From the amusement on Kaie's face and the fact that one of the few words of Rhanic Kodlak did know was Admor, which meant Nord, he suspected it wasn't terribly complimentary and probably meant something along the lines of 'that rubbish the Nords drink'. Reachmen did like their linguistic comedy, as he'd heard when a giggling Cicero had told him the literal meaning of the word they had for two-handed weapens.

“And then there's Hiril Jenever, but you should probably avoid drinking that,” Kaie added, definitely smirking now. “Queen of drinks but not for outsiders.”

“I'll be sure to remember that,” Farkas promised, smiling back at Kaie. “So, what's Rhanic for 'you're really pretty'?”

“Oh gods, Farkas,” Vilkas sighed, rolling his eyes. “Don't start with that here! They're not going to want a Nord in their bed.”

“Oh, you'd be surprised,” Kaie said thoughtfully. “Now we don't have to kill you, you'd be amazed how many of the ReachGuard are getting sweet on Nords. I've got three of them all trying to compete for Lisbet's hand as it is. It's 'te bain viraic' by the way.”

“Te bain viraic, te bain viraic,” Farkas murmured to himself, before turning back to Kaie with a grin. “Te bain viraic, Kaie Brenyeen.”

Kynareth save him. Of all the Reachwomen to try that on... Farkas's courage truly did outweigh his brains.

“Farkas!” Ria had hissed. “You can't chat Kaie up!”

“Her father will kill you!” Vilkas sighed, mortified. Kaie on the other hand was staring at Farkas, seated across the carriage from him, actually blushing... and then she smiled, looking embarrassed but pleased.

“Te melui viraic, Farkas Y Thand-Gwador,” Kaie said, smiling back at him. “Thank you.”

Kaie and Farkas both smiled at each other for a few moments more, but mercifully the carriage came to a stop after that and it was time to get inside.

“Come on,” Kaie said, leading the way. “Let's go find my father.”

No trouble from the gate guards, who took one look at Kaie and stood to attention, saluting her as she passed and accepting without question her assurance the four Companions were with her. Then into the city itself.

Kodlak hadn't visited the city since the takeover. It looked much the same... but the inn had a new sign, a Hagraven in a hammock smoking a pipe and clutching a goblet of something red that was probably meant to be wine although you could never tell with the Reachfolk. They'd renamed it The Hag's Rest, or Y Cailleachta Post – the sign had both names. There were Forsworn soldiers everywhere, although to be fair, most were off-duty and some might not even technically be ReachGuard, just Forsworn in traditional gear. There were even children running around, mostly Reachkin apart from one excited Redguard girl, who Kodlak realised was Adara the silversmith's daughter, dressed the same as the Reachkids and having the time of her life from the look of it.

Kaie had been right about the glowing Spriggans too, but they weren't as common as the magelights everywhere, being cast into place by various ReachGuard climbing over the city's crags.

The way they were going, night wouldn't even fall on this city. It seemed fairly unnatural, but what didn't in this country? In fact just about every building and doorway was lit up... apart from one tucked away on the lowest level of Markarth's Cragside, which was shrouded in darkness still.

“Who lives there?” Ria asked, curious. “They're not getting in the party spirit, are they?”

“No one,” Kaie snapped, scowl crossing her face at the mention of it. “It's abandoned. It's always been abandoned. Even in the first kingdom, it was abandoned. No one lives there. End of story.”

Kodlak was fairly certain that on the contrary, there was a whole story that could be told about that abandoned house, but he said nothing. The place gave him the shivers, and Kodlak did not scare easily.

But Kaie led them swiftly on, and finally the Keep loomed up ahead, water cascading down the front, spray throwing up rainbows in the magelights. It was an impressive building, even more so when you got inside and realised just how deep it was carved into the mountainside. The place was easily as big as the entire city again.

Inside the Keep was bustling, a hive of activity as the Forsworn were scrubbing and cleaning. The rubble that had lined one of the corridors had been cleared some time ago, and the interior was lined with rope garlands with flowers alternating with yet more magelights. Cheap yet effective and Kodlak wondered if that was how the Forsworn decorated their camps on feast days... and then he recalled just how many Forsworn camps he'd turned over in his time. He didn't expect to feel as guilty as he did, seeing them making Markarth shine. Not outlaws any more but a celebrating people.

_It was nothing personal, they were just jobs, the Forsworn were out there stealing things and slaughtering travellers, what did they expect?_

It didn't stop the guilt.

Kaie had stopped, looking up at a stone balcony with a bench on it, hands on hips as she stared up at two young Nord lovers in the sort of outfits a young aristocrat or merchant's child might wear, the man with dark blonde hair and the woman's hair jet black.

“Hey! Gwador! Gwador! HEY BRO, WILL YOU PUT INGUN DOWN AND TALK TO ME!” Kaie yelled up at them both, and the man reluctantly let his lady friend go, grimacing as he turned to look at Kaie.

Kodlak realised he knew that man from somewhere, had surely seen him before, he looked just like that Nord bodyguard of Madanach's from the summer. Except the bodyguard had had scars on his left cheek and a blind eye... and the closer Kodlak got, the more he realised how the man smelt of death and some sort of twisted magic, a smell Kodlak had only ever encountered while taking on Forsworn Briarhearts.

 _No true Nord would ever become one of those things... would they?_ Well, no true Nord had any business becoming a werewolf either but look how he'd ended up. And Kaie had called this man brother. Kodlak had heard from Cicero how Madanach had had a secret half-Nord son no one had known about who had been killed by Miraak, and then just after Cicero had left for Solstheim, word had come in that Madanach did indeed have a half-Nord son who'd been badly hurt in a fight but Madanach had pulled out all the stops, authorised every treatment in his power and restored the boy to full health – then Elisif had allegedly left him, returning after discovering her pregnancy and reconciling. That had been the official story, but Kodlak suspected that Elisif would not have left her husband merely for having a secret son born years before she was, and also he knew damn well that no Dark Brotherhood assassin of Cicero's experience and calibre would mistake a living man for a corpse no matter how badly hurt he was. Cicero had said quite, quite dead and Kodlak believed him.

And yet here was Argis apparently so well healed old scars and a lost eye had vanished, solid enough to be kissing a girl – another of Delphine's people if Kodlak recalled correctly. Kodlak didn't want to believe it, but it appeared the darker rumours were true. Madanach's son had died and the Witch-King of Markarth had brought him back using dark heathen magics, and Elisif had fled back to Solitude screaming in terror like any sane woman would.

 _And here I am staying in his keep for the next two nights._ Kodlak had never really feared for the High Queen before now, he'd seen them together and seen an odd couple but a happy one... but now he wondered if all was as it seemed. Had Elisif really wanted to come back or had it just been duty... or had Madanach compelled her somehow?

He didn't have time to think. Kaie was asking if Argis had seen their father anywhere.

“In the Night Garden,” Argis said, waving vaguely to the left-hand corridor. “He and that new research assistant of Calcelmo's are testing that new weapon she came up with. I think it's going to be Cicero's New Life present.”

“They're giving one to Cicero??” Kaie gasped, horrified. “Are they insane?”

“Isn't it powerful on the first shot but slow to reload?” the woman with Argis, Ingun, asked, frowning. “Sounds like a sniper's weapon to me, so Cicero's perfect to test it. And he did find the plans in Mzinchaleft for her.”

“It's where and what he tests it on that are the bloody problem,” Kaie snapped, turning around and making for the left corridor. “Harbinger, you'd better come with me, you as well Ria. You're about the only people he'll listen to.”

Kodlak had no idea what they were giving to Cicero but if Kaie of the Forsworn was worried, he probably ought to be concerned. Catching Ria's eye, he followed after Kaie. 

They were standing in the middle of a large cavern, the Markarth Stream flowing through the centre and a pair of large doors that led to the city under the city on the far side. Before them, by an arcane enchanter surrounded by pieces of Dwemer machinery, was Madanach himself, looking just like a harmless old Breton man, albeit one with coin to buy nice clothes and a circlet. Watching him was a young Breton woman in leather armour with reddish-brown hair, and next to Madanach was Cicero, wearing his usual hat... and what looked like a tavern wench's outfit, including a short skirt slit up the side and low-cut top. Not that Cicero had a cleavage to speak of, of course, but that didn't seem to have stopped him. And in his hands was some sort of Dwarven bow... mounted on a wooden shaft. Cicero was holding it, peering down the shaft.

“Is it loaded properly, Reach-King?” Cicero said, confused. “It is hard to tell.”

Kodlak hadn't seen Madanach move so fast in his life, both he and the woman looking panicked.

“No, don't point it at yourself, Cicero bach,” Madanach was saying nervously. “That's a bad idea. Look, you can see the bolt here, so just slide the drawstring back and secure it like so, see? All right, now there's the target on that tower, so you put one hand under the shaft, point it at the target, use the sights and pull the trigger, that's the little hook underneath, that releases the bolt for you.”

Cicero did as asked, concentrating hard, the bow twanged and the bolt went flying... and two hundred feet away, a straw dummy on top of the Dwarven tower exploded in a cloud of straw and dust.

“You got it first time!” Madanach laughed, impressed. “Well done, bion. I still can't hit it from here.”

“Because you need your eyes testing,” the woman said, nodding. “You should wear those optics of yours more often, or let me retest you, it's clear your distance vision could use correcting.”

“Sorine,” Madanach growled. “My eyes are fine, I hit it with an Ice Spike just fine, it's just this thing's hard to calibrate.”

“It's not that hard,” Sorine protested. “Maybe your hands are shaking, is it old age? Or a degenerative disease?”

“I am _fine,_ ” Madanach snapped. “And I never was any good at archery anyway, but Cicero here's a master at it, aren't you boy? Cicero?”

Cicero hadn't answered. Cicero was still staring at the bow, awed.

“Reach-King,” Cicero breathed, a man clearly in love, or lust. “Reach-King, it's _beautiful!_ So pointy! So _deadly!_ ” He clutched it to his chest, staring up at Madanach, smitten. “Could Cicero... keep it?”

Madanach grinned broadly, patting Cicero on the back and ruffling his hair in a decidedly paternal manner, and Kodlak was taken by surprise at the wave of pure rage that threatened to overcome him. That was his son, not Madanach's, Madanach had no right to laugh and smile and _ruffle Cicero's hair_ and Cicero should be staring adoringly at him, not the Reach-King! Kodlak could cheerfully have ripped Madanach's head off... but he restrained himself. Barely.

“Of course you can, that's the idea,” Madanach told him. “That's a prototype, which we need testing, and who better to test it than the Saviour of Markarth. Son'aur y Saoirse, Cicero. Consider it a thank you present for saving my city a year ago. All I ask is you send a report on how you found it to use, what worked, what didn't, any faults with it. It's one thing testing it on the range, quite another in the field.”

“With _pleasure!_ ” Cicero purred, stroking it, delighted glee all over his face as he gazed at it. “My precious...” Without another word, he hugged the bow to him, sighing happily, and Kodlak could cry with frustration at how Cicero never looked that happy at anything he did for him.

“Da,” Kaie sighed. “Why have you given Cicero a crossbow?”

“Needed testing, I couldn't think of anyone else who'll be doing the sort of unexpected and dangerous things he does on a regular basis,” Madanach said gruffly, but he looked pleased as Cicero slung the bow over his shoulder and promptly cuddled him, cooing and sighing into Madanach's chest. Once again Kodlak felt the jealousy rise as he saw Madanach grin fondly at Cicero and hug him back. 

“If it survives a Dragonborn's lifestyle, it can survive anything,” Sorine added brightly. “Not that I don't think it will, but we need to make sure what it can tolerate. That's the first one I've built in the style of the Dwemer, I don't know how it'll stand up to actual use.”

“Oh, I'm sure Cicero will find out for us soon enough,” Madanach said, carefully prising Cicero off him. He glanced up, saw Kodlak there and the easy affection in his eyes disappeared behind a somewhat cooler look. 

“Harbinger. You made it. I was wondering when we'd see you. And you brought the wolf twins. How marvellous.” Then Madanach's gaze softened as he saw Ria.

“Ria! My friend from the Windpeak Inn, hello! I hear you've been having quite the adventure in Solstheim and afterwards. Cicero told me all about it. Welcome to Markarth, my dear.”

“Thank you,” Ria said, blushing and Kodlak was getting just a bit tired of this. First his son and now Madanach was trying to charm his granddaughter as well? Fortunately Cicero had by this point seen them and had descended on Ria, squealing as he did and cuddling her until she was lost for breath, exclaiming what a lovely surprise this was, he had not known any of them were coming!

“I may have neglected to mention I'd invited you,” Madanach said, sly grin on his face. “He's very sweet when he's excited.”

Kodlak just nodded, trying to feel something other than heartbroken at Madanach forging a bond with Cicero he'd likely never have. Cicero was now cuddling Vilkas too, and then Farkas, and only then was it his turn.

“Hello Harbinger,” Cicero said nervously, dancing from one foot to the other as he stared up at Kodlak, contriving to look hopeful and worried all at once, desperately wanting approval that Kodlak desperately wanted to give... but never quite could. It was hard to approve of a son who murdered for a living and a hobby, even if he didn't do very many actual contracts any more, mostly delving ancient ruins in search of Word Walls and taking on dragons and running more Jorrvaskr jobs than he did Brotherhood contracts.

“Hello Cicero,” Kodlak said, looking him over. “Lad, I hate to ask, but why are you wearing a dress?”

Cicero giggled, looking a bit pink. “Ah, well, this is a little embarrassing, only you see there was a terrible misunderstanding at the Temple of Dibella.”

“Somebody gave him a shot of the good jenever and then someone else dared him that he couldn't steal the gold statue they have in the Temple's Inner Sanctum,” Madanach said wearily. “So Cicero took them up on it, and would have got away with it too had he not stopped to fondle the marble statues on his way out. That was when Senna caught him.”

And this, this sort of behaviour was why Kodlak had difficulty being as wholeheartedly affectionate to Cicero as he'd like. Cicero was giggling a little, bright pink and staring at the floor, clearly the nearest he ever came to ashamed of himself.

“Cicero, you didn't,” Kodlak sighed. “Lad, I am so disappointed in you. Is the dress some sort of punishment?”

“Punishment?” Madanach said, raising an eyebrow. “To start with, yeah, we told him if he liked the Temple so much he could do his community service there for two weeks, as a novice priestess instead of a priest. Hamal had him dressed like that, shaving his legs every day and performing all the most menial jobs she could find for him. Apparently he did everything he was told, good as gold, spent the entire fortnight behaving... and once he got out, apparently liked it so much he wanted to know if he could keep the outfit.”

Cicero was giggling still, biting his thumb and still looking nervously at Kodlak as Madanach spoke. Kodlak wasn't sure what should appal him most, Madanach deciding that was a suitable punishment or Cicero apparently enjoying himself. 

“What did his wife have to say?” Kodlak felt obliged to ask. Madanach just shrugged.

“Delphine just looked disappointed in him, told him off and then started giving Hamal tips on how to manage him. Whereas my daughter actually went into a hysterical fit of laughter for a good ten minutes.”

“Eola was actually crying, I seriously thought she was going to injure herself,” Kaie added gleefully. Ria had gone a bit pink but she looked like she was struggling not to giggle herself. Vilkas wasn't even bothering to hide the smirk on his face and Farkas was grinning too.

“Well, I think you look really pretty, Cicero,” Farkas told him. “Wear it more often, it suits you.”

Cicero blushed and squeaked and cuddled Farkas again, grinning up at him.

“Farkaaaas,” he cooed, fluttering his eyelashes. “Can Cicero have a piggy-back ride? Pleeeease?”

“Yeah, all right then,” Farkas laughed, turning round and crouching down, hooking his arms round Cicero's legs as Cicero climbed onto Farkas's back, arms round his neck. Slowly, Farkas straightened up before breaking out into a jog down Understone Keep's corridors, Cicero bouncing up and down and squealing his head off throughout, thoroughly enjoying himself.

Not something Kodlak could do any more, and not something he'd ever been able to do for Cicero as a boy and that grieved him. A simple childhood pleasure, riding around on a parent's back, and Cicero probably had never got the chance, not once he got too big for Stelmaria to do it. So many missed opportunities and once more Kodlak grieved for the son he'd never been able to save.

“You should probably go after them,” Madanach was telling Ria. “You know my steward, right, Nepos? Go and talk to him, he's over by the Mournful Throne, he'll show you where the rooms are.”

Ria and Vilkas gathered Farkas's things and went off to find Nepos, leaving Kodlak alone with a man he was nearly certain he hated.

“Well now,” Madanach purred. “You and I have a little business to discuss, don't we, Harbinger? My study, perhaps?”

“As you wish,” Kodlak said tersely, knowing that was no real way to address a king, but damned if he was standing on ceremony for Madanach. The Reach-King's eyes barely flickered, but the coldness got that bit deeper. Without another word, Madanach strode off, not waiting to see if Kodlak was following. Gathering his pack, Kodlak followed, having no trouble keeping up. One advantage of being taller than the average Reachman. Madanach led him up the central corridor, up the stairs leading to the Mournful Throne, crowds of Reachfolk parting without needing to be told, conversations dying as the King swept past, before starting up again in hushed whispers as he moved on. 

“Did you pass some sort of law that they're not allowed to speak in your presence?” Kodlak felt obliged to ask. 

“Oh no,” Madanach said carelessly as he climbed the stairs. “They just do it anyway and I never felt the need to tell them not to. A king who has to draft a ridiculous amount of rules and protocol on how his subjects must treat him is not a king.”

A nice quote, and Kodlak had a feeling Madanach composed them in advance, quite possibly compiling a book on the subject. He was just that sort of person, intelligent and quick-witted and while somewhat on the introverted side by all accounts, also possessed of sufficient ego to want the world to know all his talents anyway.

Up ahead was a small group of people all gathered round a bench, on which a red-haired woman in a fine outfit dripping with gems was simultaneously having her shoulders and bare feet massaged while someone else stood by a small table with a steaming kettle and two cups on it, two guards at either end of the bench, and a young Reachwoman in scaled armour perched on one of the bench's arms, glaring at anyone who came nearby. Anyone who wasn't ReachGuard, of course, and she immediately stood to attention when she saw Madanach, as did everyone else... apart from the pregnant young woman in fine clothes who just cried out as her massage stopped.

“And there she is,” Madanach said, all pride as his eyes fell on his wife, face lighting up. “The most spoiled woman in Tamriel. Elisif, cariad, how are you doing?”

Madanach's voice softened on that last sentence and Kodlak couldn't quite believe his eyes as the Lord of the Reach, the infamous Witch-King, strode over to his wife and dropped to his knees alongside her, first kissing her hand then placing his own on her belly, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against hers, apparently not caring he was supposed to be a dangerous warlord king. And Elisif, High Queen of Skyrim, six months pregnant and married to said dangerous warlord, had put an arm round him, smiling gently and kissing his forehead before cuddling him.

If he'd compelled her back by magic, it must be a very strong spell. Kodlak never had quite fathomed what she saw in him... but it seemed Elisif Wolfslayer had apparently forgiven her husband.

“Hello love,” Elisif whispered. “Doing a lot better today, thank you. The tea really helps my stomach.”

“Good,” Madanach said gruffly. “Mireen used to swear by it, and we had four healthy kids. Glad it works for Nords too.”

“The massage is really helping too, thank you,” Elisif said softly. “You're so good to me.”

“You're my wife,” Madanach murmured. “You can have anything you like.”

Elisif didn't answer, just cuddling him tighter and Kodlak could only feel envy and loneliness and that he'd not had anyone to do that for a very long time. And bloody Madanach had someone and a beautiful young someone going to have his child too and it just wasn't fair. What had Madanach done to deserve any of it? Absolutely nothing.

“Still want to go through with it tomorrow?” Madanach asked, sounding actually hesitant, which was most unlike him. Elisif nodded, ruffling his hair.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Of course. More than ever.”

“Should hope so too, I didn't come all the way from Deepwood for you to call things off,” a woman laughed, an older woman, harsh cackle like a hag's, and then Kodlak could smell the dark magic and the _wrong_ and he knew what manner of creature had just swanned in. 

Before he could turn and draw his sword to decapitate the foul creature, Elisif had looked up and cried out in delight.

“Keirine! You're back!”

“Yes child, I'm back,” Keirine purred. Kodlak turned around, wondering just why Elisif was getting so enthusiastic about Hagravens, and then he realised. Before him stood an old woman, silver hair loose and down to her shoulders, piercing blue eyes, long black dress down to her feet and a feather wrap around her shoulders... and a knowing, mocking smile just like Madanach's. But all of it was a lie, Kodlak could tell. Because she reeked of death and necromancy and was fairly dripping with powerful Illusion magic, no doubt to stop the populace panicking and screaming, although in this city that was a lot less likely than most. Or maybe it was just Elisif Madanach didn't want panicking and fleeing... again.

Madanach for his part had gritted his teeth, sighed and sat up, looking wearily at the Hag as she – no, _it,_ Kodlak reminded himself – settled down next to Elisif, who had taken her feet off the bench to make room, wincing as bare soles touched stone floor, but not for long as someone had used magic to summon one of the cushions off the Mournful Throne, placing it under her feet. Madanach had clearly trained his servants well, ensuring his queen wanted for nothing. An apology? Or softening her up for the next blow?

“Keirine,” Madanach sighed. “Need something?”

“Now that is no way to greet your sister,” Keirine pouted. Sister?? Madanach had a sister? Well, the face she presented did look like his, but with the illusions, who could tell. But if she was a Hagraven, well. No wonder Madanach kept her existence a secret.

“Also your wedding officiant and midwife to your pretty young queen and her future child,” Keirine added. “Would it kill you to be nice for once?”

Madanach was shaking his head, sighing, but that wasn't what had caught Kodlak's attention.

“Wedding officiant?” Kodlak demanded. “You two are already married!”

“Legally yes,” Madanach growled, looking at him as if he was a bit stupid. “And we're definitely together, don't you worry. But we never had a Forsworn ceremony. Never had the Reachkin Bond of Matrimony put in place. I didn't want to in case things turned out horribly when I first married her... and Elisif had her heart set on a traditional Cyronordic ceremony at Solitude. So I did that for her and never exchanged the vows of the Reach.” He turned back to her and trailed a finger across the scars, hidden under make-up but never entirely gone. “I wish we had, you'd never have had these if I'd known how to find you.”

“It wasn't your fault,” Elisif said quietly, taking his hand away and holding it in hers.

“I'm your husband,” Madanach said, voice low and strange and Kodlak realised that was actually guilt. Guilt and shame that he couldn't have stopped his wife being stolen from him. “Meant to take care of you and protect you, aren't I? Well, I'm going to. No one's ever hurting you or kidnapping you ever again, I mean it, Elisif.”

Elisif smiled, stroking his hair and kissing his cheek.

“You're so sweet,” she laughed, looking a little embarrassed, and that had to be a first, anyone calling Madanach sweet. “And it means when I get too pregnant to travel and have to stay in Solitude waiting for you, I won't have to worry about you while you're on the road.”

“Me? Elisif, creenama, don't you worry about me, no one's going to kidnap me,” Madanach laughed. “I'm not pretty enough to be worth it, and no one's going to try and take me for ransom when they know Kaie and Nepos can just hire Cicero to retrieve me.”

Which was traditionally a Companions job, not a Dark Brotherhood one, and while the Brotherhood charged an awful lot more for its services and was never going to start mounting rescue missions for anyone other than the Reach royal family, it galled Kodlak to think of them stealing his guild's work... and the glory. Even if his own son would likely be involved.

“All the same, I worry,” Elisif said quietly. “Our baby needs you!”

“I'm not going anywhere, ceilhina,” Madanach promised. Kissing her again, he got to his feet. “Listen, I have some business to discuss with the Harbinger here, you remember Kodlak, don't you?”

“Of course,” Elisif said, smiling at Kodlak, seeing him for the first time. “Hello Kodlak! Welcome to Markarth. Have you visited since the siege ended?”

Since the takeover, she meant. And while Vilkas had been by a few times in the first few months of the Forsworn regime, ostensibly looking for work but in actuality checking that innocents were not being slaughtered, and Ria and Vilkas had both visited after the Miraak attacks, he'd never been. Too old to make the journey, but the truth was, while he accepted that Madanach was actually a very capable and just ruler despite sponsoring the Dark Brotherhood and allowing worship of virtually everything except Talos in his lands, he detested the man on a personal level and dark magic set his teeth on edge. And the Reach was steeped in dark magic.

“No, High Queen, I have not,” Kodlak said, deciding to be polite for Elisif's sake if nothing else. “It's a lovely city. The decorations were impressive.” He deliberately left it vague as to which ones.

“Oh yes, the flowerlight ropes are lovely,” Elisif giggled. “And the Spriggans look nice too – I didn't know they could be lit up!”

Nor had Kodlak. He wasn't sure if he liked the effect or not so just smiled politely.

“Anyway, I won't keep you,” Elisif continued. “I'm sure you and Madanach have plenty to talk about!”

Kodlak was sure they did, not that the prospect of a private conversation with Madanach was anything to look forward to. Even so, it looked like Kodlak's best hope for a cure.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If Kodlak had detested Madanach before, seeing the inside of his study just confirmed why.

“Good gods, man, have you no respect for the dead?” Kodlak demanded, gesturing at the heads on the wall. Kodlak hadn't liked Ulfric, but even so, the man deserved better than his preserved head mounted on Madanach's wall for posterity.

“Didn't respect 'em when they were alive, them dying didn't change my mind,” Madanach shrugged. “My only regret is not getting to Thonar's corpse in time, but his skull's polished up nicely, don't you think?” He indicated the human skull sitting by the tea set.

“You are a vile human being,” Kodlak said, disgusted and pointedly taking a seat with his back to the three Nord heads. “Does Elisif know they're here?”

“Yes and she was a bit shocked at first, but she got used to the idea and now I find her in here on a regular basis taunting Ulfric,” Madanach said, lifting the tea kettle up and casting some sort of very small rune spell on the ceramic plate it sat on before replacing it. “Tea? I've got red, blue and purple mountain flower, snowberry, juniper, lavender and jazbay. Alas, no moon sugar but it's still a source of comfort. Or I've got mead. Don't normally drink the stuff myself but Maven sent me a free sample and you don't turn down freebies from Maven. Even got some juniper mead just in, it was a New Life present from my son – have you met Argis yet? Properly, I mean.”

“I saw him,” Kodlak said stiffly. “A dead man up and walking around – either your healers truly are miracle-workers or you brought him back with necromancy. Cicero told me he had died, Madanach. My son can tell whether a man lives or not.”

Madanach had gone rather quiet, eyes narrowing as he folded his arms and leant against the far wall, no longer bothering with hospitality.

“Your son acquired that skill through twenty-five years of murdering for coin, and unlike you, he'd kill anyone they told him to, innocent or not,” Madanach said coldly. “Don't judge me, Nord. I gave my boy a second chance through the only means I had at my disposal and he chose to take it and come back to me.” He stepped forward, the room seeming to darken and the very shadows seeming to twist around him, making him look even more intimidating, and even though Kodlak knew it was just some illusion trickery, nevertheless it was a little unnerving. “And as for dark magic, come now, you were invited to a secret night-time ritual in a dark cave that involved drinking the blood of a Shield-Sibling, and nothing about any of that put you off?” Madanach had raised an eyebrow, expression deceptively mild. “If you understood the old magic a little better, you might have realised that was a bad idea.”

“I was young,” Kodlak growled. “I'd been promised strength beyond my wildest dreams and more than that, the chance to be reborn into a new family after losing my own. I didn't know the price – no one ever bothered to tell me the price!”

“No one told my daughter either!” Madanach snarled, springing forward and planting his hands on the table, teeth bared as he snarled at Kodlak. Kodlak had never been closer to just changing and ripping the man's head off... but his inner wolf was wary. This one was no ordinary man, this one had a witch's power... this one might just have ways of controlling a werewolf.

“You chose this, _Harbinger,_ ” Madanach spat. “You volunteered to barter your humanity away for your own personal power. Whatever you think of Briarhearts, of Hagravens, at least they are serving their communities with their gifts. _Your_ people don't even know you are one and would think you a monster if they did. And thanks to your idiocy, my daughter's been infected too and she never even asked for it. And you come crawling to me hoping I will make it all better for you? You disgust me.”

“You invited me here, Madanach,” Kodlak growled, getting to his feet and placing his own hands on the table opposite the Reach-King's, staring him down like a true Nord should. “You made the offer, I never approached you. I am quite willing to leave this city right now if my presence offends you so much.”

“Ach, don't bother, I've got half the Jarls in Skyrim, various Legion commanders, and let's not forget, our friends from the Dominion as represented by the new Thalmor Ambassador all turning up tomorrow,” Madanach sighed, grimacing as he mentioned the Thalmor. “I need all hands ensuring the Dragonborn behaves himself and does nothing unfortunate that might embarrass the Reach. I was hoping the presence of his kin would calm him down slightly.”

Kodlak did have to smile slightly at that. Cicero, whatever his faults, was always perfectly well-behaved in Whiterun and hadn't been hauled up before the Jarl once. Sure, there was the odd squabble with a Shield-Sibling, and Farkas really needed to stop encouraging Cicero to squirm all over him like he did, and that one time Eorlund had chased Cicero off the Skyforge with a battle-axe, but Cicero was mostly very well-behaved in Jorrvaskr. Finding out the reverse was true in Markarth was a little gratifying.

Assuming the reason Cicero played up in Markarth and not Whiterun was because he felt safer in the former city, of course, which brought Kodlak's mood down again.

“So you had an ulterior motive. Of course you did,” Kodlak said wearily. “I imagine any aid you offer will have a price attached as well.”

“Of course it does, I'm not in the business of offering something for nothing, and my First Matriarch's services do not come cheap,” Madanach said, leaning back and slipping into his chair, one leg crossing the other as he rested his elbow on the chair's arm, head on his hand. “You're fortunate, Kodlak. After hearing from Eola who cursed the Companions in the first place, I discussed the matter with Keirine and we think we can help.” 

Kodlak sat down, still wary. He'd be a fool to trust Madanach or believe he was getting the whole story... but all the same, an actual claim to being able to help was further than he'd got in years.

“What manner of help are you offering?” Kodlak asked, eyes narrowed.

“You were cursed by the Glenmoril Witches, correct?” Madanach asked, clearly already knowing the answer. Kodlak nodded anyway, and Madanach continued, smiling. 

“An old coven. Dangerous. Powerful. Secretive. Not going to give up their knowledge to outsiders, Keirine's been trying to infiltrate them for years with no luck. But she does have a means of extracting their knowledge by force... if she can find someone to kill them. None of the Forsworn will do it for her – even a Hag cannot command them to raise a hand to another Hag, she needs to go herself or not at all. But you now... you don't have that problem.” Madanach was definitely grinning now, looking positively gleeful.

“I'm guessing you don't have a problem with ordering their deaths then,” Kodlak said. Not that he had a problem with killing Hagravens or anything, but he was surprised Madanach didn't. Although not that surprised – Madanach struck him as very much the type to play on his people's traditions and culture in public when it suited him but sacrifice them in private on the altar of expediency at the drop of a hat.

“Me? Order their deaths?” Madanach's eyebrows shot up and he almost looked like he was shocked... almost. “I am doing no such thing. Merely stating that if someone were to kill them all and bring their severed and _undamaged_ heads to First Matriarch Keirine at Hag's End, she would be able to extract their knowledge of beastcraft and use it to reverse the curse for any of your people who wanted it lifted. Obviously the Mournful Throne would have to issue a strongly-worded statement of protest at the slaughter of five innocent old women who just wanted to worship their gods in peace and study magic, but as they weren't living in the Reach and have always refused ReachGuard protection, there'd be nothing we could actually do to the offenders.”

Kodlak did have to wonder what it was like in Madanach's mind. All cogs and wheels, ticking over like some Dwemer machine? Or a dark twisted maze of briars and dead things on spikes, a morass of dark emotions that brought forth monsters? How the man could come up with such deceptive sophistries as naturally as breathing was beyond Kodlak. He was almost impressed. Almost.

“You mentioned a price,” Kodlak said, certain that killing the Glenmoril witches was not going to be the sole condition. He was right.

“I did, didn't I?” Madanach grinned, looking far too pleased with himself for Kodlak's liking. “I've got a job for you. I don't often need to hire you people, but Eola tells me werewolves are immune to disease. Which is very handy, as I have something needs doing that even the Forsworn don't want to touch.”

Kodlak wasn't even sure he wanted to know but felt obliged to ask anyway.

“What task is so vile even your people won't touch it?” Kodlak sighed. The Forsworn weren't exactly noted for their squeamishness.

“There's a group of Daedra-worshippers who've made their home in my kingdom. Worshippers of Peryite, the Lord of Pestilence. He sent them a blessing, a wasting disease that discolours the skin and makes those afflicted vomit up toxic green bile. Needless to say, I want them out of my kingdom without the disease spreading, which means sending in the ReachGuard is not an option. Not sure I want to risk the Dragonborn and friends on this either. But you now... you're one of Hircine's. You can't get sick. And you've got those twins as well.” Madanach leaned forward, ghoulish delight at his own cleverness all over his face. “What do you say, Harbinger? You take care of this Peryite cult for me, particularly this mage that's leading them, some elf called Orchendor, and I'll instruct Keirine to cure you if you bring her the heads, not to mention ensuring the border patrols let you through and don't arrest you for carting five Hagraven heads about.”

Slaughter a cult of Daedra-worshippers. Kodlak could wonder why the Reach-King, almost certainly a worshipper of some Daedra or other himself, wanted these cultists exterminated when Daedra-worship wasn't illegal in his country – but he supposed the public health risk merited it.

“All right,” Kodlak sighed. “I'll take Farkas and Vilkas and head out there once the celebrations are done. Where is this place?”

“It's a Dwemer ruin called Bthardamz, to the north and west of here,” Madanach told him, still smiling that strange, gleeful smile. “Here, I'll mark it on a map for you, you can't miss it.”

This was done, and Madanach got up, motioning for Kodlak to follow, commenting he should probably make sure all was going well, not to mention Kodlak perhaps should check on Cicero, make sure he wasn't up to anything he shouldn't be. An all too likely prospect, it had to be said. As Madanach reached the door, he turned to Kodlak, mocking grin firmly in place.

“See, we reached an agreement, that wasn't so hard, was it?”

Kodlak resisted the urge to hit him. Agreement? It felt more like mortgaging his soul to a Daedra... and then he recalled it was doing that which had got him here in the first place. 

So here he was, beholden to the Reach-King... and Kodlak felt tainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on the Rhanic:
> 
> Bach - small, little, young
> 
> Dodiada mi yn beoir, gwelhin - bring me a beer please
> 
> Davrhiel - Dragon's daughter
> 
> milgwin - honeywine, or mead
> 
> Admorfual - Nord-piss
> 
> Antol - welcome
> 
> Aur y Saoirse - Liberation Day
> 
> Cailleach - Hagraven
> 
> Te melui viraic - you're really sweet
> 
> Thand-Gwador - Shield-Brother
> 
> Hiril - lady
> 
> Next chapter, the celebrations get under way and the rest of the guests arrive, some welcome, some not and some not actually invited but turning up anyway.


	2. Unwanted Guests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is in readiness for the Liberation Day party and it's time for the guests to start arriving. However, occasions like this are always far more than social and for the nobles of Skyrim and the Reach, everything is always steeped in intrigue. Especially when there's a Black-Briar family reunion to deal with, an unmarried Heir to the Mournful Throne who must surely be in want of a husband, and looming over it all the prospect of the Thalmor returning to Skyrim. And of course, there's always at least one gatecrasher, isn't there?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lengthy chapter considering not a lot happens and it's mostly setup. But there's some good stuff in here. Madanach's party guests are arriving, all with agendas and not all those agendas are going to go down well, in fact they all represent trouble of one sort or another and it's saying something when Maven's the one to worry about least. Not going to say anything more, only that it's an interesting one this.

“Still wanna go through with this?”

Morning on Liberation Day itself, and Argis still couldn't get used to being entitled to a nice room at the Keep. With a big double bed. And Ingun Black-Briar curled up next to him, warm and beautiful and alive and presently smiling sleepily, eyes half-shut.

“Go through with what?” she asked, snuggling in closer, carefully avoiding the Briar Heart and not seeming to care his skin was a good fifteen degrees cooler than hers. 

“The party. Tonight. I can't get out of it, but you could still go back to Karthspire before people start arriving.”

“Mmm? Well, I could, I suppose – did you want me to?” Ingun asked, rubbing her eyes and blinking, slowly waking up. 

No. No, he didn't want her to. He'd wanted her the moment he first laid eyes on her, all those months ago at his father's wedding, but been too nervous to do anything because she was a bloody Black-Briar of Riften and he'd just been some Nord guard in the Reach-King's entourage... at least as far as the rest of the world had known anyway. And he'd seen his father lounging on the double throne with Elisif, talking with her, him looking a bit nervous about something, her looking determined and a bit worried, some sort of intense discussion going on... and then Madanach had kissed her, a fierce, savage kiss that left Argis wondering if he'd kissed Inga like that, and Elisif was melting in his arms, and Argis had felt the familiar bitterness kick in. That he wasn't just any Nord guard, he was the son of the Reach-King, the stepson of the High Queen now, and more than eligible for a Black-Briar... and no one knew and he couldn't tell them. 

Of course then there'd been the drama of the assassination attempt and later the honeymoon trip (which he'd gone on not just to protect his father but because he'd get to go to Riften eventually and Ingun would be there, sexy, beautiful Ingun and maybe she'd notice him, maybe...). And then the drama in Whiterun and he'd ended up back in Markarth, back on Temple duty... only to find Ingun waiting, dishevelled, no make-up, only scruffy leather armour to call her own and some steel weapons probably stolen off plaques in Mistveil Keep and despite Muiri telling him he'd be quite within his rights to send her home, Argis had been hard-pressed to gather his wits long enough to tell her, sure, she could stick around until the real assassins showed up. And they'd said yes, Ingun Black-Briar joining the Dark Brotherhood and becoming a regular visitor, less of an unattainable goddess and more an excitable young woman who could enthuse about alchemy for hours. It was adorable and that was when Argis realised he was in trouble. But Ingun never really seemed to look at him the same way. She looked through him, not quite meeting his eyes, friendly enough but not quite seeming to see him. Until the Briar Heart. And then she'd seen him all right. Asking questions, poking at it, taking notes, devising experiments, allegedly to document the capabilities of a Briarheart warrior, which Argis had gone along with... up until the time she'd suggested he try having sex to see if it had affected that in any way. 

“I'm not having sex while you watch and take notes!” Argis had snapped, finally losing his temper, because he didn't want to be some sort of alchemical experiment for her, he wanted her to want him back.

Ingun had laughed and told him no, that wasn't it, watching wouldn't tell her enough, she'd have to take part and not to worry, she was disease-free and on the potions, and at that point, he'd lost it completely.

“I'm not... fucking daedra, Ingun, I am not some sort of sex toy!” he'd fumed. “If you want me that badly, court me like a normal person!”

She'd stared at him, all the colour draining from her face... and then the really unexpected happened. She'd started crying. 

“Oh wait, Ingun, I didn't mean it like... please don't cry?” Argis had said helplessly, really having no idea what to do now, hardly anyone ever cried in front of him and for it to be Ingun... oh gods.

“I can't!” Ingun sobbed.

“Can't what?” Argis asked, desperately confused and wanting her to stop and all he could do was edge a bit nearer and glare at various passing Forsworn who all took the hint and found pressing business elsewhere. The overlook outside the entrance to Karthspire cave was not the best place for a heartfelt discussion but buggered if Argis was having this conversation in the Sanctuary, with Eola and Ralof looking on and commenting (and the way the two of them, his own sister and a bloody ex-Stormcloak, had bonded was frankly disgusting in Argis's mind).

“Can't do courtship!” Ingun wailed. “I'm not any good at it! I never know what to do or what to talk about, or anything, and Mother tried to set me up with boys, she really did but I kept messing up! Or I wouldn't realise they were courting me and then they'd get angry and storm off and Mother would be cross. And... and I liked you for ages, kept inventing excuses to come to Markarth so I could see you but you weren't really interested in alchemy. I kept chatting about jobs and weaponskills instead but I didn't know if it was working or not – Argis, how do you tell when courtship's working?? I don't even know that!”

It took Argis a couple of minutes to digest this, but as it slowly dawned on him that all this experimentation and note-taking had actually been as much a courtship attempt as it had been research, he realised perhaps, just perhaps, he might actually get what he wanted. 

“Ingun.”

“Yes?”

“Come here a second.”

“What is it?” Ingun shuffled closer, still dabbing at her eyes but seeming curious. Argis smiled and leaned closer, lips meeting hers as he kissed her, gently, tenderly, waiting for her to respond, and she did, gasping... and then backing away. Damn it.

She was touching her lips, looking surprised, and glancing up nervously at him.

“That's how you know it worked,” Argis told her, feeling a bit nervous himself. That probably wasn't a rejection but she'd not accepted him either. Not out loud anyway.

“Oh,” Ingun whispered. Then... “Oh!” A delighted smile lit up her face as she realised she'd not been turned down after all. “You mean, you liked it? You like... me?”

“Could kiss you all day,” Argis admitted. “Did you? Like it, I mean?”

Ingun tilted her head, clearly thinking this one over. “Well, I liked that kiss. But I can't draw any conclusions from just one kiss, I'll need a bit more data than that.”

“I understand,” Argis said, grinning. “Could take a while though. Gonna be quite a long-term project, I'd imagine.” 

“I'm all right with that,” Ingun had whispered, leaning in to kiss him again. This time, it went on for quite some time.

When he'd next seen his father, he'd hesitantly told him about all this, and for once, Madanach's misery over his own love life had lifted, the Reach-King looking delighted for him... and relieved. Up until he'd told him who his new girlfriend was.

“Ingun. As in Black-Briar.”

Argis had nodded, seeing his father frowning and starting to worry. Didn't he like Ingun? Or was it politics? He'd always thought his father got on with Maven.

“Son, are you absolutely sure about this?” Madanach had asked warily. Argis had nodded, wondering where this was going.

“Yeah. Why, don't you approve?” And here it was, the sinking feeling that one of the best things to happen to him in years was about to fall apart because of his father. Again.

“It's not that,” Madanach sighed. “It's just... her mother's a very dangerous woman. If she were to object...”

“Really,” Argis said, wondering why the Reach-King was worried about Maven Black-Briar all of a sudden. “Because I was under the impression my Da was a very dangerous man.”

Madanach glanced up, grinned and then started to laugh. “Yes, I suppose I am, aren't I? All right. You don't need my blessing, but you've got it. And when you and Ingun finally decide to tell Maven, rest assured the Reach will back you.”

Argis had smiled, hugged his father, relieved as anything that that had gone well, and when he'd finally brought Ingun to meet Madanach properly, both he and Kaie had been perfectly charming and friendly and delighted to welcome a new daughter-in-law, despite Argis's protestations they'd only been going out for two weeks if that. And Ingun had warmed to them both, particularly after accidentally starting to tell a story about this new poison she'd tested on some Nord merchant in the Western Reach in High Rock, realising this might not be appropriate dinner conversation for royalty, and then realised both Kaie and Madanach looked simply _fascinated_. And so Ingun had been accepted by her in-laws as one of them.

Argis however had barely even met Maven, or Hemming. And they were both attending tonight, both completely unaware Ingun was even in the Reach, never mind involved with the Reach-King's son.

“Of course I want you there,” Argis said, kissing her forehead. “But it's gonna be difficult, seeing your ma again, isn't it? Telling her about, you know, us.”

Ingun didn't say anything, but her arms went round him as she held him tighter.

“I think she'll be angry,” Ingun said quietly. “But I want to get it over with, and with you there and Madanach, and half the ReachGuard, what can she do? She won't want to cause a scene.” 

Frankly, Maven was a lot less dangerous in Argis's opinion when she'd got it all out of her system up front, but as Ralof had said about the juniper mead business, what was she going to do, call the Dark Brotherhood on them? And he was sure Delphine would have a quiet word with Brynjolf about the folly of interfering in the House of Madanach's affairs and that the Guild would really hit a bad patch if Argis and Ingun were put to any inconvenience.

Best to get it over with, really.

“Well, you know I'll be there, cariad,” Argis promised. “Whatever happens, you've got me.”

Ingun smiled, reaching up to kiss him.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I love you, you know. At least... I think I do. I mean, it's all right to say that, right?”

Argis paused, wondering if perhaps he should be worried Ingun wasn't sure what love felt like... and then deciding it was hardly a surprise given her family. That she wanted to say the words was probably a good sign. 

“It's fine,” Argis said softly. “More than fine. I love you too. I love you so much, I'm going to stare down your mother for you.”

Ingun giggled, blushing, but there were tears in her eyes. “You love me,” Ingun whispered. “Someone loves me!”

“You sound surprised,” Argis said, feeling a bit concerned she was so apparently amazed by this concept. Ingun nodded.

“I didn't think I'd ever have anyone,” Ingun whispered. “I didn't even know if I wanted anyone! But now I've got someone, and they're not after my money or family name, and it's not someone Mother's making me marry either and you're a king's son so she can't complain and... and it's nice.”

Argis didn't say anything, just holding her tight and feeling very glad indeed he'd come back. This had been worth coming back for.

Even if it did mean Maven Black-Briar as a mother-in-law.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“I'm really not sure about this,” Delphine said, feeling nervous as she sat in front of the mirror, Eola styling her hair and doing her make-up.

“Stop worrying,” Eola told her. “It'll be fine. You're going to go to this party with me, you and me and Cicero are going to have a good time, everyone is going to fuss all over the Dragonborn, and no one will know you're really the Grand Master of the Blades and Listener of the Dark Brotherhood.”

“The new Thalmor Ambassador's coming!” Delphine cried, fingering the edge of the blue and gold velvet robes she was wearing. “What if she realises who I am? Madanach can't protect me if she does, he signed the Concordat!”

“She has a point, Eola,” Esbern said, emerging from his adjoining bedroom in a stylish black tunic and leggings. “Are you sure this is going to work?” 

Eola lowered her hairbrush, exasperated. 

“Yes, it'll work!” she sighed. “For the hundredth time, Da knows what he's doing! And so does Auntie Keirine, they're both very experienced glamour artists, it's going to be fine. Come on, Keirine's got far more to worry about than you. Her illusions go in the middle of the Keep, there'll be a screaming panic and Da's got a crisis on his hands.”

Having seen Keirine without the illusions before now, on a visit to Hag's End for Cicero to coo over the Word Wall and for her to collect a set of Ancient Shrouded Armour found in a newly-discovered grave of an old Dark Brother, Delphine could guess why. Keirine was more human-looking than most Hags, but even so, she needed illusions to actually pass for anything else. Learning Madanach's twin sister was a Hagraven was not even a surprise to Delphine by this point but even she'd blanched a bit to see her. But Eola hadn't seemed to care she had a Hagraven for an aunt, and Cicero had treated her with all the respect and courtesy you'd expect for a well-brought up young Cyrodiilian man to show to an elderly relative. Keirine had cackled and patted his cheek and told Eola she liked him, he was clearly a lovely young man. It seemed doting on the Night Mother for over a decade was an excellent preparation for dealing with Hagraven in-laws. Delphine could wish she'd had that advantage.

As it was, seeing a pale-skinned, silver-haired parody of an old woman skittering over on taloned feet, feathers fluttering in the breeze, claws reaching out and a predatory smile exactly like both Madanach's and Eola's on her face had nearly had her running but she'd held her ground. Keirine had just grinned wider, revealing jagged, pointy teeth and cheerfully said she'd thought the Listener would be made of sterner stuff and wasn't she used to the Reach by now?

Not nearly used enough, it turned out. But once over the initial shock, Delphine had found herself warming to the First Matriarch. Keirine was pragmatic, smart, a very capable leader, and unlike her brother, possessed of a rather cooler head. Most likely a terrible foe... but a very useful ally.

Particularly when Eola had her heart set on her girlfriend being at the Liberation Day party with her, and said party was crawling with Thalmor. 

A knock on the door, and Eola dispatched Aventus to answer it. He'd been sitting in the corner, kicking his heels, a bit bored by everyone else fussing over their outfits, but the prospect of visitors distracted him easily enough.

“Hello there, bion, is your Matriarch in?”

Madanach, and despite being King, going out of his way to be nice to children in ways he never was to adults. Delphine had always liked that about him.

“She's right here, sir,” Aventus said, utterly unfazed by the Reach-King. All those weeks before the uprising, when Madanach had made Karthspire his home and seen an awful lot of young Aventus, had left Aventus unintimidated by him. Maybe he was king now, but Aventus remembered a fur and bone clad old man who'd welcomed distractions from paperwork and been a willing ear to a young boy still finding his feet and feeling lonely with all the adults out on jobs. Not to mention the magic lessons and Reach folk tales with illusions to match. A pity they'd barely seen each other this last year. Delphine would have to think about bringing Aventus down here more often on the weekend.

Madanach patted Aventus on the back, looked, looked twice, blinked and promptly narrowed his eyes.

“Have you been growing??” he demanded.

“Sorry,” Aventus said, smirking. He'd seen Cicero reacting exactly the same way and knew the cause – men not ready to realise how quickly their boy was becoming a man, and quite possibly a taller one at that. “I did try not to, but Eola keeps feeding me.”

Hopefully not at Namira's table, although Eola had always assured her she'd not converted Aventus to Namira's worship and wouldn't unless he chose to come to it.

Madanach turned the glare on Eola as he walked in. “So it's your fault, is it? I should have known.”

“Sorry Da. I can't stop him growing any more than I can stop you getting older.”

Madanach's eyebrows shot up and he turned around to the woman who'd just followed him in. 

“Did you hear that, gwaneth? That's the respect this child has for her elders. I blame Mireen.”

“I told you not to marry her,” Keirine said calmly, gliding in behind her brother, illusions off. Aventus had gone rather quiet and Esbern had bitten off an oath to Talos, but Eola was already walking over to her aunt with a smile on her face.

“Auntie, good to see you,” Eola said, giving Keirine a kiss on the cheek. “You've met Delphine, haven't you?”

“Of course,” Keirine said, smoothing feathers out of the way as she came to sit on the bed. “And this is little Aventus and... Esbern. The Blade.” 

Hagraven glared at Blade and Esbern glanced nervously at Delphine.

“You could have warned me,” Esbern said tersely. 

“I told you she was a Matriarch!” Eola protested.

“They all call Delphine that, I thought it was an honorary title!” Esbern sighed.

“Old gods save me,” Madanach sighed, rolling his eyes and grabbing a chair, pulling it alongside Delphine and sitting down. “Delphine, was this a good idea?”

“Honestly no, but Eola was pouting at me and Esbern hardly ever gets to leave the Temple,” Delphine sighed. “And you wanted Cicero to behave, so therefore it's best if I'm around. You can't uninvite the Thalmor Ambassador, I suppose?”

“No,” Madanach growled. “I can't be seen to snub her, it'd look suspicious. Also I think Elisif actually likes her.” 

Delphine and Madanach both shared a pained look at this, but both also knew quite well that sometimes your spouse would do things and you couldn't do a damn thing about it except roll with it. It was however a change for Madanach's spouse to be causing the problem for once.

“Right, so these illusions and this fake identity then,” Delphine sighed. “I hope it's a good one.”

“It is,” Madanach promised. “You, my Listener, are now Dalviona ap Derralynn, and you're Keirine's and my younger cousin on our mother's side. She did actually have a sister who died in childbirth about a year or so after we were born, and the child, a girl, died nameless within five days of life. Congratulations, you're now that child, born and raised on Lost Valley, which given the rebellion I had to put down there, does make it conveniently near impossible for anyone to go digging for the truth. And you've been an invaluable part of the rebellion and my court since, working tirelessly behind the scenes for the Reach.” Knowing grin from Madanach and Delphine had to smile. She felt a moment's sorrow for the dead cousin whose life she'd taken on, but she did appreciate a king who was prepared to swear blind she was a true Forsworn all along and one of his own family... kin but conveniently not too closely related, allowing for Eola to be her open lover. A gift from a father to his daughter and daughter-in-law, and Delphine would always be grateful for that. Watching from the bed, Eola was smiling.

“And now the illusion,” Keirine said calmly, raising a clawed hand to cast. Delphine felt the spell envelop her, warm and bright, wrapping her in a cocoon before disappearing. She felt no different and looking in the mirror showed no difference.

“What did it do?” Delphine asked.

“It's a charm of forgetfulness,” Keirine said, grinning. “Anyone who doesn't already know your real name will not recognise you, even if they've seen your likeness before, and you'll pass from their memory when you're not in their company. It'll last twenty four hours, but I imagine you'll be back in your Sanctuary by then.”

Delphine certainly hoped so. She wasn't planning to linger tomorrow, not even for Eola's sake. Not with Thalmor around. But for tonight, she could manage it. 

“And now you,” Madanach, distaste barely flickering on his face as he turned to Esbern. Madanach had apparently forgiven Delphine for being a Talos worshipper, or at least, erased it from his memory in payment for all the ways she'd helped him personally. However, Esbern was another story, even if he had been willing to help Cicero and Eola jailbreak Madanach. “I have to admit, yours was harder to come up with, but we got there in the end. You're now Asbjorn, and back in more peaceful days, Derralynn of Lost Valley took a shine to you. You ended up getting married and living on the camp together and you stayed around with little Dalviona after your wife died, although you've moved camps in the interim years. And now here you are in your twilight years, about ready for a peaceful existence with no ambitions except to see your little girl happy, isn't that right?”

“I... what?” Esbern said faintly. “Delphine's father?”

Delphine could throttle Madanach at this point. Was this his idea or Keirine's, she wondered, then decided it didn't matter. They were both evil sadists who liked playing with people's heads. Sadly, killing them both would likely not go down well with Eola.

“Dalviona's father,” Madanach corrected, looking rather pleased with himself. This time, it was him who raised both hands and cast the spell. “There, you're done. The Thalmor will never know. Unless you start praising Talos in the middle of the Keep, but if you're going to do that, I'm afraid I can't help you.”

“I'll try not to,” Esbern promised. “Thank you, Madanach. This means an awful lot.”

“Don't mention it,” Madanach said, offering an arm to Keirine and preparing to take his leave. “If not for you, there would have been no dragon to save our backsides from the Stormcloaks. Inviting you to the party was the least I could do.”

Eola gave her father and aunt a grateful hug goodbye, before returning to Delphine's side.

“See, it worked! Sweetie, you are going to the ball!” Eola laughed, taking Delphine's hand and kissing it, ignoring the vomiting noises Aventus was making.

“I suppose I am,” Delphine said faintly. Going to a party. With Thalmor. And dignitaries. With a new identity and some fancy magic to make her forgettable. Really not in a Grand Master's job description... or a Listener's. But Eola was smiling and that made up for everything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Mid-afternoon and the first guests were arriving, and the Reach-King's court were gathering to greet them all. Delphine and Eola had taken the balcony seat overlooking the entrance, with Cicero snuggling next to Delphine. Aventus was also there, sitting on the actual ledge and kicking his heels, a bit bored but apparently keen to see all these Jarls and functionaries. 

Down in the corridor was Madanach himself wearing his newly crafted official robes of state, a replica of Miraak's robes complete with enchantments and designed to intimidate the unwary, Borkul at his shoulder, Nepos off to the left, Elisif sitting by the wall in a wooden rocking chair with cushions and furs to make her more comfortable, and Kaie on the right with a couple of ReachGuard on each side. Argis and Ingun were also lurking in the shadows, looking pensive. Delphine didn't blame them. Today was the day Ingun finally told her mother where she lived and that she was going out with the Reach-King's son.

Jarl Balgruuf was first to arrive, accompanied by Irileth and the kids. Madanach was cordial enough with Balgruuf, and Elisif seemed pleased indeed to see Whiterun's Jarl. She even seemed pleased to see the children – at least until Dagny started complaining about the stonework being ugly and it being too dark inside the Keep and when was the light show starting, she'd been promised a light show.

Madanach's eyes had gone cold but his smile remained fixed even as he told Dagny that the light and magic show was happening tonight, after it got dark, so people could see it better.

“But I want a magic show now, Father, you promised!” Dagny wailed, rounding on a clearly embarrassed Balgruuf.

“I, er, well...” Balgruuf began, but it was Madanach who cut in.

“The magic show will be happening after sunset tonight,” he said curtly. “You will have to wait. I don't care if that bothers you. I am King in this city and I've ordered it for tonight. Not now.”

“But I-!” Dagny cried, staring up at Madanach and then her voice died in her throat as she realised Madanach simply didn't care.

“My city,” Madanach said calmly. “My rules.” He inclined for Balgruuf to move on inside where some of the ReachGuard were waiting to escort them to their suite, and as Irileth passed, when her Jarl couldn't see her, she silently mouthed 'thank you' at Madanach.

Frothar glanced a bit nervously at Madanach but said nothing, while Nelkir hadn't taken his eyes off Cicero, sitting there in his motley, grinning right back at the boy and waving. Nelkir shuddered and ran off after his father. Six months since Mephala's influence had been banished and the boy still had the mental scars... but it was memories of Cicero's questioning that gave him the nightmares.

Next to arrive was Jarl Brina Merilis of Dawnstar, her housecarl Horik Half-Hand accompanying her, a little wary of the Reach-King but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and probably just glad to get to the Reach's warmer climes for a few days. And not long after that, Jarl Idgrod of Hjaalmarch and her family, and while Aslfur her husband looked a bit wary, Idgrod greeted Madanach like an old friend and Madanach laughed and embraced her, giving her a kiss on each cheek and asking how she was doing. 

“For myself, well enough,” Idgrod replied, then her expression darkened. “Worry more for yourself, Reach-King. You've allied with some powerful forces and they're not all your friends. Beware of who you've pledged loyalty to, for their struggles could be the ones to drown you.”

Madanach glanced nervously up at Delphine, hoping it wouldn't be some enemy of the Brotherhood going for him as well. Or worse, the Thalmor. Their interference had helped cost him his throne last time. He didn't need it happening again, and dropping another dragon on their Embassy would just look suspicious. 

Then Idgrod had turned to Elisif, smiling as she took her hand.

“Now here's a fine face to see. High Queen, it's good to see you. A light in the darkness for all of us, not least your husband there.” She tightened her grip on Elisif's hand. “You tie yourself to him. You bind yourselves with love and magic. When he falls in the darkness, you'll be the one who'll know where to find him.”

“I'm hoping he won't!” Elisif said, smile fading. “But thank you. I do mean to look after him. He needs it more than he ever lets on.”

“I know,” Idgrod said, but a strange smile curved on her lips. “But he's also stronger than you realise. You tie yourself to him, High Queen. You be his light in the darkness.”

Elisif didn't understand any of that but she promised she would anyway. Meanwhile Idgrod the Younger, her brother Joric with her, had approached Madanach hesitantly.

“My lord – I mean, Reach-King. Sir,” she said, stammering a little. “I – my name's Idgrod, young Idgrod, that is, Mother said I should write to you, so I did... about Joric here.”

Madanach's entire face softened as he recalled the letter – a brother who saw visions, lived his life not entirely present in this world, the temple in Whiterun couldn't help, Falion hadn't been able to help, the College was so far and so cold, but Jarl Idgrod had said try the Reachmen. 

He'd written back immediately and said come to Markarth for Liberation Day and they'd talk. So here they were and here Joric was, looking around the Keep in awe.

“This city's amazing,” Joric gasped. “It's so old... and it's been so sad. It misses its builders, sis.”

“Joric,” Idgrod sighed. “Joric, the Reach-King's here, don't you want to say hello?”

Joric turned and looked at Madanach, eyes widening as he stared at him.

“Hello bion,” Madanach said gently. “Welcome to the Reach.”

Joric didn't say anything, still staring, and his sister nudged him nervously. “Joric? Say something, he's a king.”

“He's a witch,” Joric breathed. “I didn't know men were witches too! Look, he's tied to the land, he's part of it. That's why this place is like it is!”

“I am so sorry,” Idgrod began, cheeks red, but Madanach held up a hand, eyes not leaving the boy.

“What is it like, bion?” Madanach asked, curious and fascinated by him. “Tell me.”

“Scarred,” Joric said quietly. “There was a war, wasn't there? Like in Skyrim but worse. It was unhappy for so long. But now it's hopeful again.” He smiled, gazing up at Madanach. “I like this place. Can I live here?”

Madanach looked thoughtful, before glancing at Elisif, who was smiling at Joric.

“Maybe,” Madanach said, scratching his chin. “I will need to talk to my wife and your sister and your parents. But it could happen. Let me think about it.”

“Thanks!” Joric gasped. He looked at Madanach again, worry in his eyes.

“You're gonna have some trouble. Don't know what. It's scary. There's blood. But there's an elf and a wolf and a woman with weird eyes and a man with no heart and...” He turned to his right, and stared right at Cicero, Eola and Delphine. “And those three,” he said. “They'll all help you out of it.”

Madanach followed his gaze, meeting Delphine's eyes. He felt he ought to be worried. But if Delphine, Cicero and Eola were going to help him, he really wasn't frightened.

“They always do,” he said, winking at Delphine before turning back to the boy. “All right, I've kept you and your sister long enough. You head on in and let my steward know if you need anything, you hear?”

“Thank you,” Idgrod whispered, looking beyond grateful. “For being so understanding. Not many are.”

“Not many have time for magic, I know,” Madanach sighed. “But you did the right thing in bringing him here. I don't think I'm going to have a lot of time to talk to him over the next day or so, but let me talk to my wife and we'll figure something out. In the mean time, get my schedule off Nepos, bring him to me when I'm in Solitude. I usually have time on my hands when I'm over there and it's nearer for you.”

“I will. Thank you so much,” Idgrod said, leading her brother off. Madanach watched them go before venturing over to his wife. 

“Well now. That was interesting.”

“Interesting?” Elisif gasped. “They both predicted horrible things for you! Jarl Idgrod said you'd fall in the darkness.”

“Yes, but Joric said my usual three little helpers would rescue me,” Madanach said, squeezing her hand as he knelt beside her. “And a man with no heart – that's probably Argis. I'm not worried, cariad. Delphine'll sort it out.”

“Well, I'm worried!” Elisif said firmly. “Jarl Idgrod said I need to tie myself to you, so we're getting married Reach-style tonight and then at least I'll know where you are. So no falling into darkness!”

“I'll try not to,” Madanach said, kissing her cheek. “So, what would you say to me fostering Joric then?”

“I'd say it's very sweet you want to help,” Elisif said, tilting her head. “Do you think you can cure him?”

“Cure? No,” Madanach said, shaking his head. “It's part of who he is, the only cure is him dying. But I think we can train him to use it. I used to have a scryer back in the old kingdom, if we could track him down, maybe he could help. Or Keirine might, but I think he responds better to men with magic.”

“If you think it's a good idea,” Elisif sighed. “And his parents agree. And bear in mind we're going to have a child of our own soon!”

“I know,” Madanach said, stroking her belly proudly, pride and love and excitement threatening to overwhelm him as it always did when he thought about the baby. Losing two daughters had left a permanent void in his heart... but a child with Elisif would help fill it. “I hadn't forgotten. But Joric needs help, and I think we can help him.”

Elisif squeezed his hand and smiled. 

“You're a good man,” she told him. “I love you so much.”

Madanach took her hand and kissed it, holding it to his cheek and not caring if anyone thought him weak because of it. He loved and treasured Elisif, his beautiful young wife, and he cared not who knew it. More people could stand to know it in his view.

General Rikke next to arrive, a couple of Legates along for the ride, pleased to see both Elisif and Madanach.

“Glad you could make it,” Madanach said gruffly. Never fond of Nords but he always had time for one of the signatories to the Treaty of Markarth that had freed the Reach. Although he'd locked his study. Probably not wise for Rikke to see the trophy wall.

“Wasn't going to miss it for the world,” Rikke said, amused. “Not when I was promised a light and magic show.”

“Old gods, not you too, I had enough from young Dagny ap Balgruuf wanting to know why it wasn't happening now, now, right now!”

Sympathy from Rikke who'd had to deal with Balgruuf's kids herself before now. And then Erikur and Siddgeir both turned up at once.

Madanach forced a smile. Somehow Erikur had got it into his head that as older men of the world who knew how wealth and politics really worked, he and Madanach were kindred spirits. Madanach had lost count of the number of times he'd politely but firmly had to tell Erikur that whatever intrigue he was trying to involve him was of no interest whatsoever, and that if it didn't concern either the Reach or the Queen's personal wellbeing, Madanach didn't care. Erikur had yet to take the hint.

Siddgeir really wasn't a lot better in Madanach's opinion. At least the younger man was slightly easier to intimidate, and his indolence prevented him doing any real harm.

“Well now, Madanach, this is a very nice city you have here,” Erikur grinned. “I should have visited sooner but I'm kept very busy in Solitude. You know how it is.”

Frankly, Madanach had yet to see Erikur do anything resembling a day's work in his life, and if Madanach could manage to run the Reach two weeks out of every month without even being in it, Thane Erikur could surely shift out of Solitude for a bit without it falling apart. Except that would mean Erikur bothering him in Markarth as well as Solitude, and if that happened, Madanach might end up throttling the man himself.

“Welcome to Markarth,” Madanach said coolly. “The High Queen seemed to think we should invite you, you should be sure to pay your respects.” Really, the way Erikur talked down to Elisif was blatantly disrespectful at times. Erikur could count himself lucky he wasn't part of the Reach-King's court, Madanach would have swiftly dealt with anyone who'd ignored and patronised him like he did to Elisif.

“I'll do that very thing,” Erikur promised. “Listen, they tell me your older daughter's in the marriage market. Have you... found anyone yet?”

Over Madanach's dead body. He shot a glance at Kaie, who'd gone pale, and then Siddgeir made it worse by chiming in.

“Yes, I'd heard that too,” Siddgeir purred. “Is she here? Is that her up there?” He nodded at Eola, clad in shining scaled armour and staring imperiously down at them all with Delphine's hand in hers.

“No,” Madanach growled. “That is my youngest, Eola, and she is spoken for. I trust you know the story, most of Skyrim does by now.”

Reach-Princess Eola, sidekick and lover of the Dragonborn, usually cast as his sidekick in stories even when she'd not been there, and both Siddgeir and Erikur at least had more sense than to go after the Dragonborn's girlfriend.

“She's over there,” Borkul put in with a grin, quite unnecessarily in Madanach's opinion – just because Borkul and Kaie had had a brief affair then a traumatic break-up was no reason to land Kaie in it like that. Kaie hissed viciously at Borkul before glaring at Siddgeir. He at least looked a bit intimidated. Erikur didn't seem put off at all, smirking as he looked her up and down. Kaie turned pleading eyes on her father.

“I will have you both bear in mind that Kaie is heir to the Mournful Throne and in charge of the ReachGuard, and as such any future spouse will be required to live with her in Markarth,” Madanach growled. Where he could conveniently keep an eye on them, and have Keirine and Nepos doing the same while he was away in Solitude or anywhere else, and easily arrange for the ReachGuard to look the other way if a tragic accident was called for.

“I don't mind moving here,” Erikur smirked. “As easy to make coin here as in Solitude, surely?”

Kaie's eyes were twin pools of horror at the very thought, and Madanach wondered if perhaps the tragic accident needed engineering sooner rather than later.

“Aren't you a little old for her?” Madanach snapped, and belatedly realised that wasn't the best argument to be using.

“You married a twenty three year old and you seem happy enough,” Erikur said, eyes not leaving Kaie's chest and Kaie finally could take no more.

“I've got someone,” Kaie said hastily. “And we're very happy together. So no suitors, not for me, right Da?”

“Right,” Madanach said, torn between relief and confusion, and deciding better to just go with relief at having an excuse not to let Erikur court Kaie. “Not that I have actually met them yet, in fact she keeps making excuses, it's almost like you think I won't approve, daughter.”

Siddgeir looked suspicious and Erikur looked flat-out disbelieving, but Kaie was undaunted.

“I don't care if you approve or not, we're happy together!” Kaie snapped. “And he's here tonight, I invited him, so you can meet him later, can't you?”

Kaie actually looked sincere. Now this was concerning. Kaie was happily single as far as he knew, and he'd had Nepos out looking for any indication his heir to the throne might be about to furnish him with the longed-for grandchildren. For Nepos to miss this was worrying. Nepos had people everywhere.

But it had Erikur and Siddgeir convinced and that was the main thing.

“That is a damn shame,” Erikur sighed. “Say, you have a sister, don't you? Elisif's midwife to be. She single?”

Keirine had yet to go up Solitude, deciding that while Elisif was in good health and still able to risk travelling, there was no need for a Hagraven to visit a city where she'd be in constant danger if the illusions failed. So Erikur had yet to meet her, although he'd heard of her.

Keirine was going to kill him. But he also knew his sister was more than capable of looking after herself and well practised in dealing with pushy Nords. Yes, this would do perfectly.

“She's single,” Madanach said, grinning. “Has been for a while, I'm sure she'd appreciate a little attention from a man of your station, Erikur. Head on in, I'll be sure to introduce you later.”

“I am already looking forward to it,” Erikur murmured as he headed inside, completely forgetting to pay any sort of attention to his Jarl. 

“As if a king's sister is going to want that lout paying court to her,” Siddgeir sniffed, already tweaking his outfit. “She'll want a man who knows about the finer things in life, someone without his best years behind him. If you'll excuse me, Reach-King.”

“You're excused,” Madanach purred, watching gleefully while Siddgeir at least remembered to pay court to his High Queen. The party hadn't even started properly yet and already things were getting interesting. Definitely going to be a night to remember, this one.

“You know, Keirine is gonna kill you, boss,” Borkul muttered as Erikur and Siddgeir made their way inside.

“Perhaps,” Madanach said, smirking. “But probably not until after she's killed Erikur and maybe she'll have got it out of her system then.”

“Heh. Good work, boss,” Borkul grinned, and then his mood darkened as Kaie made her way over, barely sparing Borkul a second glance.

“You could do a slightly better job of protecting me from unwanted suitors,” Kaie said sulkily. “Can't you send them packing with fireballs like a proper Reachman father?”

“Well, perhaps if you found yourself a wanted suitor, I wouldn't need to,” Madanach countered, about ready for some answers. “And what's all this about a boyfriend, I know damn well you don't have one.”

“She doesn't,” Borkul growled. “I was keeping an eye out, I'd have heard.”

Kaie's eyes narrowed as she stared her ex down. “Who I see is not any of your business, Borkul, and I am very good at evading both your clumsy attempts at surveillance and Nepos's people. Sithis' sake, Da, I've worked alongside all your agents for ten years, I know all their tactics.”

“Well then, I hope you do actually have a boyfriend to produce later on then,” Madanach said, genuinely not sure if she was lying or not. It was a disconcerting sensation, although if she really had managed to conduct a relationship right under the entire court's noses, Madanach would be very impressed.

“Oh don't worry,” Kaie said sweetly. “I'll have a date tonight, you'll see.”

She sounded just a bit too confident about this for Madanach's liking, and he just hoped that the ReachGuard men realised that obeying orders only went so far. He really didn't put it past her to order one of the men into her bed.

And then the Black-Briars arrived. Maven leading the way, Hemming on her arm, Maul at their back, and while Hemming was nothing like as tough as he liked to make out, Maven was a force to be reckoned with, as always. It was a good thing Madanach liked her really.

“Maven!” Madanach laughed, walking towards her with arms outstretched. Maven stopped dead, folding her arms and glaring. Oh good. He'd annoyed her already. “Er. How was your journey? No trouble, I hope?”

“Madanach,” Maven said, eyes glittering frostily at him. “We stopped in at the tavern in Hroldan Village for lunch. An interesting little array of drinks they have there.”

Madanach felt his heart sink. He knew exactly where this was going and when Maven produced an empty mead bottle, gaudily decorated with a Briar Heart hovering above a black rose with a garland of thorns circling it and two juniper trees on either side and a mountain ravine in the background, Madanach could only laugh nervously and rue the day his son and daughter-in-law had turned up with two bottles of juniper mead and sworn this was a key gesture of reconciliation between Nord and Reachman.

“Black Briar Heart Juniper Mead??” Maven snapped. “'The Unbowed Spirit of the Reach'??” She turned the bottle round and began to read the promotional claims on the back. “From the slopes of the sacred mountain of the Reachmen, brewed using a blend of ancient recipes from Red Eagle's time and the most cutting edge mead-making techniques available today, Karthspire Monastery of the Old Gods is proud to bring you Black Briar Heart Juniper Mead, made from only the finest of the Reach's juniper berries and the sweetest honey from bees raised on the mountain flowers of the Druadachs. Brewed to perfection and endorsed by the Mournful Throne, this marriage of the finest craftsmanship known to both Reachman and Nord is a worthy contribution to a cause we can all agree on – celebration.” Maven lowered the bottle, seething. “ _Black Briar_ juniper mead??”

“I can explain,” Madanach said, laughing nervously. Maven was having none of it.

“Endorsed by the Mournful Throne??” she shouted at him. “You are using _my_ name to market your cheap knock-off mead?! Did you honestly think I wouldn't find out, Madanach?”

“It's not that cheap!” Madanach protested. Maven's lip curled back as she hissed at him.

“What would you people know about mead, it's a Nord drink!” she seethed. “Where would you find out how to make mead, and Black-Briar mead at that, it even tastes a bit like mine!”

“I showed them,” a soft feminine voice rang out and Maven stopped mid-rant, turning slowly to face the speaker, eyes widening as she laid eyes on a daughter she'd not seen in months. Ingun Black-Briar stepped out of the shadows, looking a bit nervous but not flinching.

“You...” Maven whispered. Ingun nodded.

“Friend of mine tried juniper mead once, this guy in Helgen used to make it. He's never been able to find it anywhere since, then he moved here and kept going on about it, so eventually I said I'd make some for him. So I did and people liked it, and I applied for a grant, and now I've got my own little meadery.” Ingun had gone a bit pink but she looked proud of herself. Madanach was feeling a bit proud of her too. Argis did most of the day to day admin but it was Ingun in charge of all things technical, when she wasn't off on Brotherhood business (and the Brotherhood were doing nicely out of it too – having a legitimate front business was proving to be both an excellent source of income and a cover for all sorts of things).

“You're using my name for your rival business,” Maven said softly, eyes going hard and Ingun gasped.

“It's my name too!” Ingun cried.

“Which you got from me, along with your entire knowledge of how the mead business works!” Maven snapped.

“Not true, my alchemy studies helped too,” Ingun protested.

“Yes and I paid for those as well!” Maven said. The Keep had gone silent, everyone watching this mother-daughter face-off and even Madanach not wanting to intervene in this one.

“You didn't pay for this,” Ingun said quietly. “All the funding for this was either grant money I applied for or earned myself through other means. I'm not you, Mother, I'm my own person! And Black Briar Heart Meadery is mine.”

Silence as everyone waited to see how Maven would react to that one. For a few moments she didn't react at all – and then...

“I want a cut,” Maven said, and there were sighs of relief all round. She'd caved and now it was just a matter of negotiations. “Twenty five percent of profits.”

“WHAT?” Ingun shrieked. “Profiting off all my hard work, I don't think so! Five. In return for a three thousand septim investment, and you can be a partner. A _silent_ partner.”

Maven gazed back at Ingun and after a few moments, she nodded. “Acceptable. I'll send you the coin in the new year. I'll want quarterly accounts.”

“You'll have them,” Ingun promised, relieved, and there was a hint of a smile on Maven's face too.

“You know,” Maven said after a pause. “I underestimated you. Didn't think you had any business sense, but I see I was wrong. Have you been living here the whole time?”

“Most of it,” Ingun admitted. “And I had a bit of help organising things. Not from Madanach, not exactly... only there's someone you should meet.” She beckoned to Argis, who stepped away from the shadows and took her hand, looking a bit nervous but meeting Maven's curious eyes. “Argis, this is my mother, Maven Black-Briar. Mother, this is Argis. Argis ap Madanach.”

“Argis ap...” Maven realised where she'd heard that name, realised that she'd last seen this man guarding the Temple of Sithis, saw a resemblance and turned to Madanach, eyebrow raised. “Your illegitimate son. Your illegitimate son is involved with my daughter.”

“Yes,” said Madanach, staring her down now the thorny question of the meadery business had been resolved. When it came to his children, even Maven Black-Briar wasn't going to push him around. “Yes he is and they're very happy together. Which reminds me, Maven, what happened to Ingun's father? Was there ever a Mr. Black-Briar anywhere?”

No, there never had been, and her children's paternity remained a mystery, albeit not one anyone ever looked into or even remarked on if they knew what was good for them. Maven glared at Madanach but took the point.

“She could do worse, I suppose,” Maven said, shrugging. “Riften's home to a Temple of Mara. Have the eventual ceremony there, I'll arrange a reception at Mistveil Keep.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Madanach promised, keen beyond the telling of it to avoid having to pay for an entire wedding party himself. He'd never been to the Rift. Sixty years on this world and he'd never been further east than Whiterun. He'd have to rectify that at some point.

“And speaking of weddings,” Maven continued. “I heard rumours your eldest is looking for a husband. Hemming's single...”

Hemming was giving Kaie sidelong glances, edging nervously away from this fur-clad, warpainted barbarian who was glaring at him in such a way as to suggest the next person to suggest a marriage was going to be meeting Mara sooner than they'd anticipated.

“Kaie's got someone,” Madanach said swiftly. “She's introducing him to me later on tonight. We're all very curious, she's kept it very quiet. My sister's single though.” Well, if Siddgeir and Erikur were fighting for her hand, might as well give Hemming the chance to get in on the action.

Sadly for both Hemming's marital chances and Madanach's twisted sense of humour, Maven had other ideas.

“Your twin sister?? I don't think so,” Maven snapped. “She's practically my age. And... wait.” Maven's brain was ticking over everything her informants had been able to tell her about Lady Keirine, and piecing it together as only Maven could. “Your sister's the First Matriarch, isn't she? Your people's spiritual leader and chief magical practitioner. Doesn't that... condition... preclude marriage?” Maven was no fool and clearly had read the literature on the Forsworn and had evidently worked out what a Matriarch was.

“It's not forbidden,” Madanach shrugged. “Just not very common. Good thing too, she's got Erikur and Siddgeir vying for her hand. Poor thing.”

“Siddgeir as in Jarl Siddgeir. And... Thane Erikur of Solitude.” Maven's eyebrows had shot up, interest well and truly piqued. She'd loathed Erikur ever since a certain party at the old Thalmor Embassy where they'd ended up getting in a fight and been summarily ejected. Madanach had heard the whole story from Eola and it still made him laugh.

“That's right,” Madanach said cheerfully. Maven digested this, brain ticking over as the implications hit home.

“Do they know...?”

“Not yet, but one poor sod might get to find out,” Madanach smirked. Maven stared at him, bit her lip, looked as if she was desperately trying not to laugh, then snapped her fingers at Hemming.

“I see. I shall clearly have to keep an eye on this situation as it develops. Hemming! Come on, we need to find our rooms. And as for you, Ingun, you can walk with me, you and Argis here, and you can tell me all about how you met. Argis, what exactly do you do for your father, or should I not ask?”

“I'm in charge of an entire settlement, ma'am,” Argis said, not for a minute believing he was on first name terms with the Black-Briar matriarch even if his father was. And with Maven clearly rather pleased by this, his political instincts were every bit as keen as his father's.

Madanach watched as the Black-Briars headed inside. Well, that was that over with – Maven introduced to her new son-in-law, the whole Black-Briar Reach Meadery thing out in the open, and everyone still talking. It was as good an outcome as he'd hoped for.

And then everyone fell quiet as two Thalmor soldiers strode in, looking dismissively around before deciding no one was lying in wait to kill their commander and beckoning her in.

“MAKE WAY FOR THE THALMOR AMBASSADOR!” one of the guards cried. Madanach couldn't help but stiffen, on edge as soon as he realised she was here. He'd met her before, she'd made a point of calling on Elisif and him in Solitude within days of her arrival at the new Embassy. And despite insisting he wasn't afraid of some elf... she still made him nervous. 

From the balcony seat, Delphine sat up, keen to get sight of the enemy, and Eola was also looking intently at the door as the Thalmor party swept in. Even Cicero was looking interested, no doubt committing their faces to memory in case a future assassination attempt was called for.

The doors opened and the new Thalmor Ambassador swept into the Keep. Easily over six foot tall, golden-skinned and sharp-featured like all the Altmer were, but wearing a lot less make-up than Elenwen used to. Older too, a few lines around the eyes and strands of grey in the long red hair that fell down her back revealing her as a mer in her middle years, over five hundred in fact, a veteran of not just the Great War but the Oblivion Crisis if they had but known it. Piercing green eyes that missed nothing, and the blue-black and gold robes of a Thalmor wizard, Ambassador Sabrinda was a force to be reckoned with.

Madanach straightened up, adjusting his robes and stepping forward, aware of Elisif actually getting up and making her way over, and Nepos emerging from somewhere, clearly deciding that while he was willing to let Madanach interact with most of the visitors unsupervised, he was taking no chances with the Thalmor. Kaie adjusted her headgear and fingered her axe nervously, not sure how to react to a Thalmor she wasn't allowed to kill.

Nor was Delphine but at least she was out of the way. A mercy considering, particularly as she realised with horror that she recognised the Ambassador. They'd never actually met, but Delphine had seen her both in Valenwood and Cyrodiil during the war and the run up to it. Justiciar Sabrinda as she'd been back then, cunning, smart, ruthlessly pragmatic, and a skilled Destruction and Conjuration mage. And now the Thalmor had sent her here as their Ambassador? They clearly meant business.

“Madanach,” Sabrinda said, face betraying no hint of any emotion other than boredom. “So this is Markarth. Dwemer-built, they tell me, a city built by mer.” Patronising look as she glanced at the Dwemer spheres dotted around. “It would have to be.”

Madanach gritted his teeth, reminding himself he wasn't actually allowed to kill her personally, but Sithis help him, he was this close to slipping Cicero some coin and whispering for him to have at her in secret. Or maybe Ingun could arrange a discreet poisoning, yes, let a sane child-in-law deal with this one. As it was, he settled for unleashing the usual checks on his magicka and letting it ooze out, a signal to every mage in the city that the Reach-King's personal power was a force to be reckoned with.

Sabrinda clearly noticed, sniffing the air and looking a little repulsed but saying nothing, turning to Elisif instead.

“High Queen, a pleasure as always, how are you feeling.” The actual semblance of a smile for Elisif and Elisif smiled back, evidently not quite politically savvy enough to see through it yet.

“Very well, thank you, Ambassador,” Elisif said brightly. “Reach medicines really do help with it all, Madanach's been doting on me non-stop since I told him. Also it's so helpful having a husband who can cast frost runes if I get too warm.”

Madanach did allow a little smirk at this point, taking his wife's arm and patting her hand. Sabrinda just raised an eyebrow at him.

“Is that so? Now that's the first time I've heard of anyone doing that for their pregnant wife since I left Alinor. Meryndor used to do the same for me although it's been a few decades since he needed to for that reason. Speaking of which... Meryn!”

Meryndor glanced up from where he was bending down to talk to a shorter figure. Meryndor turned out to be a male Altmer around the same sort of age as Sabrinda, but dressed in a nobleman's clothes rather than Thalmor robes. Blonde hair that fell to just below his ears, golden slanted eyes and a face that unlike his wife's, wasn't schooled to hide every emotion that passed his mind. But he wasn't what grabbed everyone's attention. The shorter figure he'd been talking to was another Altmer, but not even five foot tall. Blue dress with golden embroidery on the sleeves, pointy ears that were a bit too big for her head, same green eyes and red hair as Sabrinda but with none of her imperiousness. She was cuddling a pointy-eared doll in one hand, and clutching Meryndor's hand with the other, and the entire Keep had gone quiet... but that only lasted a few seconds before the ReachGuard started whispering to each other, the whispers varying but all with the same excited pitch and all with variants on _“baby elf! Look, it's a baby elf! She's adorable, look at her, she's so tiny, the ears!!”_

So the Thalmor Ambassador had a young child. Interesting. Delphine filed this piece of information away for future use and noted the grin on Eola's face, making a mental note to have a stern 'no eating the Thalmor Ambassador's child' talk with her later. Not to mention a 'no stabbing said child either' talk with Cicero... although looking at him, that might actually not be a problem. He'd squeaked, staring at the little girl and cooing excitedly, demented grin on his face.

“Listener, there's a little one, look! Isn't she a sweet little child?” Cicero cooed. Talos help her, trust Cicero's paternal instincts to start making themselves known now. “Can we stab her parents and keep her, Listener, can we?”

“No,” Delphine hissed. “We are not adopting any children and we definitely aren't killing their parents to do it!”

Cicero pouted up at her, looking disappointed, and it was clear from observing the rest of the Keep he wasn't the only one. Elisif had taken one look at the little girl elf and emitted a sound that Delphine wasn't even sure was human.

“Oh my goodness, she's so cute, I didn't know you had a little girl!” Elisif squealed, dropping to her knees with as much grace as a heavily pregnant woman could manage.

Sabrinda had closed her eyes, clearly muttering a silent invocation to the Eight before opening them again and gritting her teeth.

“I am sure I mentioned my daughter before, High Queen, and I know I notified your husband's steward that I was bringing Ancalime with me.”

“I know, but you said she was thirty-five, I thought she was a grown-up!” Elisif gasped, unable to take her eyes off Ancalime, who had reacted by drawing a bit closer to her father.

“Elisif cariad,” Madanach sighed. “Elves don't age as fast as humans do. She's probably about eight or nine in our terms.”

“She's gorgeous,” Elisif breathed. “Hello little one. Is your name Ancalime? Is it? My name's Elisif. It's lovely to meet you!”

Break-up notwithstanding, Kaie and Borkul could still work together on some things and Kaie had edged nearer the Orc.

“This isn't going to be like the Baby Khajiit Incident all over again, is it?” Kaie said quietly. Borkul shivered to remember that one. Ri'saad and his wife had had kittens, half the city had gone to see them and Elisif had lost her head completely and walked off with one, too absorbed in its little nosey-wose and its teeny little whiskers and its big blue eyes and its _feet_ to realise she was abducting someone else's child. The resulting meltdown had involved Madanach finding out and freaking out at his wife before forcibly taking the kitten off her and handing it to Borkul along with a large purse of gold to return to Ri'saad, and Elisif bursting into tears in the middle of the entire city and court having to be closed while Madanach whisked his hormonal queen off to their bedchamber for a much-needed discussion.

“Hope not,” Borkul growled. “Gonna take more than an apology and five hundred septims to fix things if she steals the Ambassador's kid.”

Fortunately, Ancalime was older and clearly wary of strangers, staring at the strange human who was squealing at her and saying nothing, just glancing nervously up at her father.

“Don't worry,” Meryndor reassured her. “That's the High Queen. They say she's a nice lady.”

Ancalime didn't look terribly convinced but she did shuffle forward a bit.

“Hello High Queen,” Ancalime whispered, hiding her face behind her hair. Then she glanced up at Madanach and to everyone's surprise, Madanach was grinning back at her.

“Hello there, little one,” Madanach said, dropping into the paternal voice that had comforted five children on many occasions. “Welcome to Markarth. I hope you had a good journey.”

Shy nod from Ancalime. “Are you High King?” she whispered. Snickering from most of the watching Forsworn and a rueful grin from Madanach

“No cariad, I'm not High King, although I am married to Elisif. I am however king of the Reach, and Markarth's my capital city. What do you think of it?”

“It's really pretty, I love the waterfall!” Ancalime whispered, face lighting up... and then she glanced up at her mother, no doubt remembering she was supposed to be a Thalmor child and probably not allowed to talk to humans. 

Sabrinda sighed and turned to Elisif. 

“You'll have to excuse my daughter, she's a bit young to be socialising outside the house yet, but we didn't want to leave her on her own in a strange place.”

“We don't mind,” Elisif breathed, still staring at Ancalime as if smitten. Madanach rolled his eyes as he helped her up but in truth, he found the excitement adorable. It was a welcome change to have a wife who seemed to actually like children and wanted to be a mother because she wanted to dote on a baby rather than to further her ambitions. As long as she didn't walk off with any more children that weren't hers, of course.

“There's plenty of other children here, about five at the last count,” Madanach added. “She won't be the only one.”

Sabrinda had gone very still, eyes widening in horror and Meryndor was looking nervous... and Ancalime had actually gasped.

“Other children??” she breathed. “What, you mean I'm not the only one here?” She looked around and her eyes fell on Aventus, human boy and elf-girl's eyes meeting as they stared at each other. Silence fell and the two could have stared all evening... if Sabrinda hadn't cleared her throat and given her husband a pointed look, and Meryndor hadn't coughed and started steering Ancalime away.

“We should find our rooms and settle in,” Sabrinda said tersely. “Where are our accommodations?”

“Right this way,” Nepos said smoothly, assigning a few nearby ReachGuard as baggage-handlers and guides. Sabrinda nodded and beckoned her entourage onwards, barely sparing High Queen and Reach-King a second glance.

“Why do I have a feeling they are going to be trouble?” Madanach sighed, watching them go. 

“Do you think so?” Elisif asked, eyes not leaving Ancalime, who'd turned round and waved shyly at them both. Elisif waved back, never one to miss an opportunity to play with a child. Which was lovely but that child could be a problem.

“They clearly would prefer their little girl to be kept away from the lesser races, and certainly away from human children who might corrupt her,” Madanach said, brooding. “And yet they bring her here to a party where she'll have ample chance to sneak off and explore. I have a feeling we're being set up.”

“They wouldn't risk their baby like that, would they?” Elisif whispered, appalled at someone using their child that way.

“Who can say?” Madanach said, shrugging. Elisif bit her lip, pondering all this but also thinking _we're in a king's keep, what could possibly go wrong or be a danger?_ Then she recalled Madanach's trophy wall, the entrance to Nchuand-Zel, a Temple to Sithis that was really the Dark Brotherhood's reception desk, and of course, the Jester Dragonborn himself, sitting up there next to an ex-Blade who hated the Thalmor. Delphine's face was impassive but there was clearly no love there for any of the Thalmor contingent, and Cicero's manic grin was the opposite of reassuring.

Elisif took Madanach's hand, no longer feeling quite so at ease about the Thalmor Ambassador. The last thing she needed was her husband's court causing a diplomatic incident.

“Anyone else to arrive?” Madanach was asking Nepos, who was consulting the guest list.

“I don't think so, Madanach, I think nearly everyone's here now... oh.” Nepos had looked up, staring at the figure who'd just waltzed in, staring impassively at the Keep... at least until his eyes fell on Madanach.

“Who in the Void's he?” Madanach hissed at Nepos. “I didn't invite any Dunmer nobles, did I?” 

Dunmer nobility the elf certainly was, with his haughty bearing, fancy wizard robes and looking a little on the old side for an elf... but from the way his magicka was swirling about him, making it manifestly obvious to any mage in half a mile he was there, he was clearly not to be trifled with.

“You there,” the elf snapped, striding forward. “Yes, you with the magicka and the robes. I'm looking for a man named Madanach. I'm told he's king of this place.”

“That's him right there,” Nepos said cheerfully, pointing at Madanach, and not only had his steward cheerfully sold him out, his wife, daughter and even his damn bodyguard had all slunk off behind him, leaving him exposed to a very powerful elven wizard. 

The magic-resistance enchantments on these robes had better work, was all Madanach could think as he stepped forward.

“I'm Madanach, King of the Reach. I'd ask your name and business, outsider. You're not on the guest list, that's for damn sure.”

“Really? An oversight, I'm sure,” the elf sniffed. “Neloth of House Telvanni, and I hope you've got accommodations suitable for one of my station. I've come a long way, and I don't wish to be disappointed.”

“We'll do everything we can to make sure you're not,” Nepos said smoothly, actually smiling as he stepped forward. “I do apologise, I have no idea how you got missed, but I'm sure I can find you somewhere... suitable.”

A flick of the eyebrows, a smoothing down of his own fine clothing, and Madanach realised with horror that Nepos was flirting, actually flirting, with a bloody gatecrasher!

“Nepos, what in the Void...” Madanach began, but it was too late. Neloth had turned to look at Nepos, and where some might see just an old Reachman with an unusually long nose, Neloth had clearly seen something more because his own eyebrows were raised and he'd nodded in Nepos's direction.

“In that case, lead on,” Neloth said, accepting Nepos's proffered arm. “Maybe we can discuss business later.”

“Just business?” Nepos asked, apparently feeling a little brazen judging from the smirk.  
There was an ever so slight thawing in Neloth's imperious demeanour as he nodded again.

“Well, I suppose I'm not averse to a little small talk,” Neloth sighed. “Provide me with a little charming company and the journey from Solstheim might almost have been worth it – really, you would think Nords had never seen a Dunmer before from the way they talk. I had to teach one fellow in Windhelm a lesson – such a kerfuffle but really, calling his clear social better a 'grey-skin Imperialist' was a faux pas in serious need of correction.”

“I quite understand,” Nepos said sympathetically. “We've had the exact same problem in the Reach for years, finally got the place set to rights last year. Don't worry, sirrah Neloth, you won't have anything less than the greatest respect from the Reachfolk.”

“I sincerely hope not,” Neloth's voice trailed off. “Nepos, did he say your name was? And what exactly do you do around here?”

“I'm the Reach-King's steward,” Nepos answered, voice just about audible as he led Neloth away. “I do all the tedious jobs Himself can't be bothered with...”

Madanach stared after Nepos, not quite able to believe that firstly, a Telvanni wizard had randomly shown up and that secondly his bloody steward had just invited the man in. Nepos was getting a severe talking-to when Madanach got a chance.

“I need a new steward,” Madanach said, gritting his teeth. “That one is getting ideas above his station.”

“I wonder why he's here,” Elisif said, curious. She knew who Neloth was, she'd heard the edited version of Cicero's adventures in Solstheim, she knew he'd helped them find out how to defeat Miraak. But why he'd come all the way to the Reach was a mystery.

“Maybe he's here for the party,” Kaie grinned. “Maybe he's decided to take the stick out of his backside and learn to live a little.”

“I don't think he's the partying type,” Madanach said, worried. Here to see him on some sort of business, probably to do with Reach-magic. Whatever it was, Madanach had a feeling he wouldn't like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there is the set up. Next chapter, there's the official celebrations, including Kaie's mystery boyfriend, Madanach and Elisif renewing their vows and getting empathy-bonded, quite possibly the kids getting to know each other, the promised light and magic show, Erikur and Siddgeir fighting over Keirine's hand and the First Matriarch's response to all that... and then maybe the incident that really starts the plotline going.
> 
> Readers of Thicker Than Blood may recognise Sabrinda and family. :)


	3. Liberation Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reach is celebrating its freedom with a show to remember, albeit considerably edited from the truth in parts. Then it's time for the private cocktail reception in Understone Keep for the great and good of Skyrim and the Reach, at which intrigues abound and everyone there has their own agenda to push...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double posting! The Liberation Day party took up more space than I thought. So it's going into two parts and here is part one.

Night fell on Markarth. The magelights twinkled, Spriggan corpses glowed, the citizens gathered and an expectant hush fell over the city. They'd been told a show was going to happen. They were right. Even as the dignitaries gathered on Understone Keep's balcony, an Illusion spell was falling over the front of the Keep and then it spread out over the city, a cloak of darkness settling over the crowd and extinguishing the lights one by one, leaving nothing but starlight and aurora and the moons above. Then the narrator, a young Reachwoman, began.

_“Many years ago, the Reachfolk lived free, children of men and mer, children of the old gods and they lived in the hills of the Reach... until the coming of the Nords.”_

Illusory Nord soldiers swept across the sky, led by one in particular in dragonbone armour who Shouted away his opponents, who were dressed in traditional Forsworn gear.

_“Tiber Septim, who some called Talos, won his first victory here and he built an Empire... and after his death, some called him a god.”_

Scorn in the narrator's voice, and while she certainly wouldn't believe in Talos herself, that part had almost certainly been written in for the Thalmor Ambassador's benefit.

_“But the Reachfolk never forgot and the Reachfolk remembered him only as a slavemaster and warmonger who had enslaved them all, put chains on them, stopped them from worshipping their gods. The tribes fell apart, disunited and separated, and slowly we sank into ruin._

_Until Caradach the Scholar came, visiting each tribe, learning of each tribe's ways and writing them down before they could be forgotten. He shared them with other tribes and slowly we remembered we were a common people again. And Caradach fell in love with a woman of the Sundered Hills, and married her, and she gave him two twin children before dying.”_

Illusions of Caradach holding hands with a Forsworn warrior woman, then him with a hand on her belly, and then saddest of all, Caradach alone with two children in his arms, head bowed and face in shadow.

_“He raised them in Markarth where he had grown up, and the girl grew to become a fierce beauty who excelled at everything she touched, and the boy a quiet bookish scholar like his father. They were not rich and were often hungry, but their neighbours in the Warrens helped and they did not starve._

_And so Keirine and Madanach grew to adulthood, and as Keirine grew beautiful, the Nords took note and one of them, a wealthy noble called Thalric Silver-Blood, desired her for his own. She refused him, and in revenge he had her father killed, and took her for his own anyway, leaving Madanach alone in the Warrens. The twins were fourteen years old.”_

This time the illusions showed a young woman being hauled away by a grimacing Nord warrior, reaching back to a young Reachman kneeling over his father's body, clearly devastated. Silence in the watching city, apart from the odd sob, and one of those weeping was the boy's older incarnation, the Reach-King himself who still missed his father sometimes. He and Elisif were seated in thrones on the porch of Understone Keep, concealed in darkness but able to see, and Elisif was holding her husband's hand and wishing she could heal this particular wound.

_“A year passed, and Madanach earned what coin he could at the smelters while Keirine was kept prisoner in a gilded cage. Until one day Madanach lost his job after one fight too many, and retreated home to drown his sorrows in drink._

_Keirine heard, Thalric idly telling her and not even recalling it was her brother, and when he slept, she smashed a mirror, slit his throat with the shards, gathered all the jewels he'd given her and fled to find Madanach, rousing him from his stupor. Together, they collected their father's work and stole all the ingots they could carry and ran for the hills, not stopping until they reached one of the tribal settlements._

_There they lived and there they stayed, but neither ever forgot the injustice they'd suffered, or the injustice that still went on in the city. And so Keirine Ascended young to Matriarchy, going on to become the First, and Madanach married the settlement chief's daughter, becoming chief in turn in time. Children were born to him, and slowly Madanach finished what his father had started, uniting the tribes once more until they all hailed him as King.”_

That part of the story conveniently left out the bit where the chieftainship of Karthspire had initially gone to Mireen's dissolute wastrel of a brother until Madanach decided the entire camp had had enough of his womanising and executed him, before going on to do similar things to the chiefs of other camps while Keirine wrangled the Hags for him. The illusions showed tribal Reachfolk all bowing the knee to the twins, and the image of Keirine in her Ascended form looked like no Hagraven any of the crowd had ever seen, appearing more like a beautiful woman in a raven feather cloak with slightly overlong nails.

_“Then war came to the Empire, and the Nords marched south to fight. Madanach saw his chance and after a brief uprising, the Reach was ours at last.”_

A very brief flash of Thalmor soldiers facing off against Legion troops, no doubt not wishing stir up old grievances with Great War veterans on both sides in the audience, and then Madanach in the Mournful Throne, Keirine at one shoulder and Nepos at the other, with four little girls at his feet and a young boy off to one side, representing Argis. No sign of his former queen anywhere. An interesting rewrite of history, but few versions of any story were immune from politics.

_“For two years we lived free until the Nords came home, and Ulfric Stormcloak came with his men and his false god Talos's name on his lips, and after a three month siege, his voice magic threw defenders off the walls and allowed his men into the city._

_Madanach escaped, but the Nords slaughtered men, women and children alike, the city streaming with blood, and a few years later, they caught Madanach and enslaved him in their mine, preferring humiliation to an honourable death.”_

There came an image of Madanach bowed and beaten, prison gates closing on him as he picked up a pickaxe and smashed it into the rock.

_“For twenty years they kept him down there, the Reach's greatest hope penned up and trapped. But he still ruled from within the prison and his sister kept order out in the hills, and the tribes became Forsworn, criminals in our own lands, those who must fight their own people for their freedom. For twenty years we rained blood on the Nords... until finally the gods remembered us, and help came. For Madanach's youngest daughter, Reach-Princess Eola who had fled the Reach when she came of age, met the man who would save the world, Cicero Dragonborn, running across him just after he'd killed his first dragon and taken its soul, and taking him back to the inn she'd been working at, helping him after the dragon attack had destroyed his possessions.”_

There was an image of a jester stabbing a dragon to death while a cart blazed behind him and his horse lay dead, then Eola passing him a drink over a bar... and then later the two holding hands and sitting on a bed while kissing.

_“Eola told him of her homeland and her father trapped in prison... and the Jester Dragonborn agreed to help. So she helped him on his dragonslaying adventures while he learned the Thu'um that had shattered us the first time... and then he came with her in secret to Markarth, getting arrested alongside her and incarcerated in Cidhna Mine... where they both met Madanach.”_

A vision of the King in Rags meeting Eola in prison and holding her tight, with Cicero in the background looking a bit nervous... and then the three of them in Forsworn gear blasting Nord guards out of the way.

_“Madanach had already been plotting his escape, and with the Dragonborn on his side, saw no reason to delay. And so the prison they swore no one escaped from was broken at last, and the King of the Reach was free.”_

Much cheering at this point, Cidhna Mine's reputation having been infamous for years and all the Reachfolk being very pleased indeed to see it broken. Then the story moved on again.

_“Meanwhile war raged among the Nords as Ulfric proved to the rest of the world that he was prepared to kill anyone... even his own King. Then the Emperor himself was killed and the war looked lost... until the Dragonborn offered to help the Empire in return for freedom for the Reach._

_A deal was struck and Madanach claimed his kingdom back, Eola herself killing Thongvor Silver-Blood, and the Reach was ours again. But Ulfric was still strong and he laid siege to the city, and with the Dragonborn away fighting the World-Eater, all seemed lost. But we held out, and finally, on 21st Evening Star last year, salvation came as the Dragonborn returned.”_

As the narrator spoke, there had been illusions of the gates of Markarth, Madanach and Kaie and Keirine raining fire from the ramparts while Nord warriors fired arrows back and Ulfric Shouted Forsworn soldiers off the walls. And then a shape swept overhead, a giant red dragon with a rider on the back, who leapt off him, straight onto Ulfric and carved into him in a spray of blood while the dragon tore the Nords apart. 

_“And so Ulfric died and the Stormcloak army was destroyed, and the siege was lifted at last. And the Empire kept their word and Madanach was made King, and the Reach was finally free.”_

Cheering all round, and many if not most of those present remembered the Battle of Markarth and the siege that preceded it, not to mention Thongvor's brief but unlamented rule, and Madanach's taking office by executing Thongvor, then leading the city through a siege, then having the good fortune to have a Dragonborn son-in-law who'd saved them in such a way that the telling of it would live on down the generations, had sealed his popularity. 

The free party hadn't hurt either.

_“And so we were Forsworn no more, but the ReachGuard, guardians of the Reach and all who call her home, dispensing the Reach-King's Justice and keeping the peace. Join with me all of you in saluting the ones who made all this possible: Cicero Dragonborn, Reach-Princess Eola and Madanach the Reach-King!”_

The darkness lifted, Understone Keep being revealed in all its glory as Eola emerged in her purple and gold Dragon Priest robes, as replicated from Miraak's (or what was left after Cicero had finished with them anyway), Cicero in his armour and motley being hauled alongside her, fixed grin and staring eyes as he looked out at all those people, and only Eola's arm linked with his stopped him turning and running, and then Madanach behind them both in his own Dragon Priest robes, rather proudly standing aside and motioning for the crowd to cheer Princess and Dragonborn, who were now taking bows, Eola managing to look sufficiently dignified and regal to convince the unknowing she'd actually been raised in a palace, while Cicero blushed and waved, grinning manically at all and sundry while the entire city cheered and even Madanach applauded them both.

Finally the fuss died down and Eola led Cicero off to one side while Madanach took centre stage, motioning for quiet.

“Thank you Markarth!” Madanach called, with the skill of one who'd done this before and moreover knew how Markarth's acoustics worked. “Son'aur y saoirse, my people!”

More cheering and Madanach basked in the applause, grinning as he soaked it up. 

“Are you having a good time?” he called, knowing full well that the crowd were worked up, had likely already started on the jenever if not the mead, and would cheer almost anything at this point. They did not disappoint.

“Glad to hear it!” Madanach laughed. “Well, I won't keep you for long. Only to remind you to drink sensibly, behave yourselves, do not try to mate with anything unless it has given you a clear and unambiguous mating signal, and no starting fights. We're not Nords and we do not solve disputes through beating each other up.... and those of you who are Nords, rest assured any fighting in my city will not get you to Sovngarde, it will get you to the lock-up.”

“But for those of you who are going to have fun tonight and not end up getting arrested for your trouble, let me say this. Some of you are guests, and some of you are from outside Markarth, but a good many of you were here this time last year when we didn't have a lavish selection of food and drink laid on because we'd just come out of a six week siege and were weeks away from me having to authorise cannibalism. And there are many more who were there for the siege but are no longer here in body. We who were there will never forget, and those who are no longer here, we will never forget their sacrifice either. So drink and be merry, my citizens! Live that those who live no more will not have died in vain. Live and build a country that deserves its freedom! Live your lives and love your kin and know with every breath you take that your freedom was hard-won and clawed from the oppressors and that a day may come when we need to fight again. Live and be merry, for today at least, we have peace and freedom and the Nords will trouble us no more!”

Mass cheering at this, and yes, they really were at the stage where they'd cheer anything, particularly their leader telling them to have a good time. Madanach smiled. This boded well for the next bit.

“A victory hard-won and a peace well-earned, and as a sign of reconciliation, the most beautiful woman in Tamriel, also known as the High Queen of Skyrim, agreed to be my wife and my queen.”

More cheering. By this point, Elisif had become universally beloved among the Forsworn, even hardened haters of Nords being slowly won over as it became apparent that she really was sweet and pretty and gentle despite being able to breathe fire, and that their King was really very fond of her and a lot happier and easier to live with when she was there. Not to mention it becoming gradually apparent how little her own court had seemed to think of her, which had won her sympathy all over the Reach. Things had settled down in Solitude now at least, but Elisif was very definitely now the Reach's much-loved Queen.

Elisif shuffled forward, helped by Uaile and Keirine as she made her way out to join her husband, finally taking his arm and smiling at the crowd, who all cheered again as Madanach kissed her.

By this point, Borkul had emerged to stand at Madanach's back, Nepos and Delphine were watching from the shadows, Kaie had emerged to join her sister, as had Argis with Ingun on his arm. Madanach's family, there to see him bonded magically to the one he loved.

“We got married in Second Seed and despite trials and troubles, she's still by my side,” Madanach announced, stroking Elisif's cheek. “So as we've had the rites of Mara, we're now going to have the rites of the old gods to truly bond us. If you're still willing, Elisif.”

“I am,” Elisif said breathlessly. Of course she was, why would she not be? And yet Madanach looked nervous – hopeful but nervous. A bit like he had on their first wedding day in fact, and she'd later found out he'd been terrified and been having serious misgivings because he didn't think he was worthy of her. It turned out he still wasn't sure that was the case but he also missed her horribly when she wasn't there and doted on her non-stop when she was and Elisif loved him now. She didn't want anyone else in her bed or by her side, she wanted her Reach-King. Maybe he was damaged, older, a little crazy, a little neurotic at times, still struggling with Skooma addiction (but making considerable progress there too) but he was hers and he was strong and brave and Elisif treasured him dearly. She just wished he'd realise that.

His hands were shaking as she took hold of them, but it wasn't Skooma shakes, he'd had his meds earlier, she'd seen him do it. Then Keirine draped the enchanted ribbon around their wrists and it was time for the vows.

“I, Madanach ap Caradach, do take you, Elisif Wolfslayer, as my wife and partner in the Dance, from now until the Void takes me. I swear to walk with you in the sunlight, shelter with you when the rains come, protect you from your enemies and show hospitality to your friends. When night falls, my bed will be your resting place and when the day breaks, I will be the one to greet it with you. In the name of the old gods, this I do swear.”

His voice shook as he spoke and she could see tears in his eyes and his grip tightened as she repeated the same vow in turn, meaning every word. Hadn't he helped protect her when her throne got stolen... and didn't she put up with his less than savoury associates despite knowing he was working hand-in-glove with the Dark Brotherhood? And why did she do this? Because when he woke up in the morning, he was just an old man like any other and the smile on his face when he saw her there each day never failed to warm her heart. Then Keirine raised her hands and the ribbon blazed, green then red, then sank into their hands... and the bond kicked in. It was done, they were married, Reachfolk-style... and Elisif could feel him. She could close her eyes and still sense him, there, right there... and he felt terrified. Scared, nervous, worried, even fearful... and Elisif had never wanted to hold him more. _It's all right, I love you, you don't need to be scared!_

Slowly he let go of her hands, eyes meeting hers, blinking as he stared disbelieving, not saying a word and then she felt surprise-joy-happiness, a rush of emotion as he presumably sensed her and realised she really did love him still. 

Then he was kissing her, holding her to him while an entire city cheered and it was a while before he broke off, smile never leaving his face.

“You love me,” he whispered. “You really do love me!”

Elisif nodded, helpless to do anything but smile as he kissed her again and then held her tight, love pouring out of him as he embraced her and Elisif felt like she could cry from sheer happiness.

Everything after that was a blur, with the city cheering, fire, frost and lightning firing into the air, but all Elisif cared about was Madanach in her arms, a man who the years had made ruthless, dangerous and a man to be feared... but who had once been a quiet young boy most at peace when curled up with a good book or watching the sky and daydreaming of a better world, and at heart he still was. Elisif was determined to take care of him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The big displays over with and the Royal Family and guests thereof were back in the Keep at the private reception Madanach had organised, with a buffet table, a selection of drinks including mead, wine, Colovian brandy, ale, beer and a young lady mixologist from High Rock who was mixing fancy cocktails from a selection of ingredients no one would ever have thought to put in a drink.

Cicero had promptly gone over and obtained a pink one with a cherry on a stick, paper umbrella and a little paper monkey hanging off the glass. He seemed very pleased with it, cooing as he showed it off to Eola.

“Look, look, the little parasol actually works, sister!”

“Yes, sweetie. Yes it does,” Eola said, amused. She'd spent the best part of her early twenties out in High Rock, hanging out in cocktail bars and experimenting. It had been her idea to get a proper mixologist in and Madanach, on learning that was a profession that actually existed, to assemble drinks, had been intrigued enough to say yes. 

Kodlak was watching his son with that mixture of amusement and pain that had come to characterise how he saw his son's antics. At least this wasn't causing anyone any harm. It was just a reminder that a nearly forty-two year old man still had the mind of a child in a lot of ways and that always hurt. The old pain, that perhaps if he'd got to Cicero sooner... but he never had. And so there he was, the Jester Dragonborn, complete with hat and eyeliner, cooing over a bright pink drink.

Then he turned to see how Ria was taking this spectacle, only to see her with an orange cocktail garnished with another parasol, a slice of citron fruit from Cyrodiil and a little paper flower, sipping the thing quite happily with not a care in the world... at least until she caught his eye, then a guilty blush crossed her face.

“Cicero was going on at me to try one, so I did,” Ria said apologetically. “You know, just to make him happy. It's nice, you know! It's called a Centurion, this one. I think it's got orange citron, jenever, apple juice and I think there's a dash of Dwemer oil in it.”

If it wasn't the arcane ingredients, it was the ridiculous names. Still, at least the twins had more sense... Talos help him. Vilkas had just arrived from the cocktail bar clutching a tall glass lined with some sort of frost spell, containing a clear drink with what looked like a snowberry floating in it.

“Dare I ask?” Kodlak sighed, fearing for the future if this was what young warriors were drinking these days.

“It's called a Frostbite Spider,” Vilkas said, doing his best to try and look unaffected by the pained look Kodlak was giving him. “Jenever, snowberries, ice wraith essence and some sort of treated version of Frostbite venom. Oh, and lots of frost magic. It's actually all right although there's a definite kick to it. Not sure I want too many of these.”

“Eola said we should just have one or two each,” Ria said, sipping her Centurion. “Some of them are really strong! So she tells me anyway.”

Eola was presently ordering a red cocktail with a Hagraven feather in it called a Bloody Mireen, and Kodlak honestly didn't want to know what was in that one. Gods help him, where did a man go for some good, honest mead?

“Hey, Kodlak! Got us some drinks!”

Farkas, and he was standing there holding two bottles of the juniper mead, and while it wasn't exactly conventional, it was still better than the cocktails.

“Thank you,” Kodlak said, relieved. Quite nice, this stuff, he could get used to it, although he had a fair suspicion this was the more expensive version and the version that was actually affordable wouldn't be anything like this.

Farkas passed a bottle to Kodlak and they both drank, and Kodlak was feeling quite cheerful... until a woman coughed and Kodlak turned to see Kaie the Reach-Princess standing there, clad in her Forsworn gear but with a shiny silver rope necklace round her neck, open at the front with two wolves' heads on it. She was also wearing a little more make-up than usual and was holding yet another of those damn cocktails in her hand, a transparent one with a green colouring to it.

“Hey there,” she said, seductive smile on her face and her hips angling just so and Kodlak sincerely hoped that wasn't aimed at him. Fortunately for him, her attention was all on Farkas, who'd gone a bit pink but was smiling.

“Hey,” Farkas said, grinning back at her. “How you doin'? Nice party your pa's thrown for us.”

“Isn't it?” Kaie purred, but there was a certain set to her jaw, a flash of something in her eyes and a definite hint that actually she'd really rather not be here. “Farkas, may we talk? I need a favour.”

“Sure!” Farkas said, eyes lighting up as he offered his arm and let himself be led away. Kaie grinned in triumph as she led him off, and this was typical Farkas, a pretty woman asks him for a favour and he'd do anything. This was like the Saadia incident from last year all over again, Kodlak just knew it. 

“Do you think he has any idea what he's getting into?” Vilkas asked, sidling up to Kodlak.

“No,” Kodlak sighed. “Keep an eye on him, Vilkas, I have a feeling that your brother may be going to get his heart broken.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Farkas followed Kaie into a shaded corner of the Keep's huge throne room, not sure what Kaie was after but eager to help in any way he could. As long as it was honourable of course. Kaie was a Forsworn and Forsworn were dangerous, Farkas knew that all too well. But if she needed help, he wasn't going to say no.

Besides, she was pretty. Really, really pretty. Not helpless pretty or trying to be tough but actually really fragile pretty but pretty. Dangerous pretty. Or pretty dangerous. Farkas couldn't remember which way round it was supposed to be but he knew what he liked and he liked Kaie. Farkas wasn't always the best with women, he wasn't much good at poetry or fancy gifts, and talking about weapons and killing things didn't tend to go down very well. Which is why none of his relationships had ever really lasted. The ones with men hadn't lasted either, but in most cases Farkas hadn't intended for those to last in the first place. Nearest he had to anyone these days was Cicero, but the little jester was happily partnered up and so it never went any further than a bit of cuddling.

But Kaie, now... Kaie might just be offering more than a bit of cuddling, and Kaie was single and who cared if her father was one of the most dangerous men in Tamriel. Farkas wasn't easily scared.

If he'd known Madanach better, he might have been. But Kaie was here and Kaie was motioning for him to sit down, looking a bit nervous.

“Farkas, I need your help,” Kaie said, biting her lip. “I... look, I told my father something that wasn't exactly true earlier, and now he's expecting me to prove it to him tonight.”

“Is this honourable?” Farkas asked, bright enough to be just a little wary at a member of the House of Madanach involving him in one of their intrigues.

“Mostly,” Kaie sighed. “Oh, to the Void with it. Farkas, I just turned thirty a couple of months back. I'm heir to the throne, but I need heirs of my own. I know it, Da knows it, whole Reach knows it. He's changed the law to allow children of trueborn daughters to inherit regardless of whether they're married to the father or not, so that Eola can have kids with Cicero and they can inherit, but I honestly can't see either of them as natural parent material. I need kids of my own ideally, and someone needs to father them and that'll mean a husband, and half the unmarried noblemen in Skyrim have decided that means them. I've got suitors chomping at the bit but I don't like any of them! I mean, Thane Erikur, Jarl Siddgeir, Hemming Black-Briar – ugh!”

Farkas could sympathise but in all honesty he wasn't sure how he was supposed to help with this one.

“Did you need one of them beating up?” Farkas asked hesitantly. “I don't know if we're really supposed to take jobs against nobles, but I could do it if the cause was honourable.”

Grateful smile from Kaie who took his hand and squeezed it.

“You're adorable,” Kaie told him, and she really needed to stop smiling at him like that because she was a princess and he was just a mercenary and even Farkas knew it would never go anywhere no matter how much he hoped otherwise. “No, it's just that... to get rid of them, I told Da I had a boyfriend already. Except I don't, and now he's expecting me to produce one, and if I don't, it'll be really embarrassing! Because Siddgeir and Erikur heard me say it, and if they find out I lied, they'll know I did it to get rid of them!”

That would be very awkward for everyone, Farkas could see that. What he couldn't see was how he could help out with this one.

“Right, right, so what do you want me to do?” he asked, still puzzled.

“Prtentobemybfrnd,” Kaie said in a rush, looking guiltily away. Farkas scratched his head, not sure if he'd heard that right.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said, pretend to be my boyfriend! Please? I mean, you said I looked pretty earlier, so it won't be too hard, right?” Kaie asked, pleading. “We don't have to actually do anything, just cuddle a bit and be affectionate to each other and convince my father and everyone else I'm spoken for. Then give it a few weeks and I'll just tell him we split up. Please, I just need someone to scare all the suitors away and my father's doing a terrible job of it. Please?”

Farkas hadn't really heard a lot of anything she was saying after the 'pretend to be my boyfriend' bit. All he really understood was a pretty woman was receiving unwanted attention and needed someone to look after her and there'd definitely be cuddling and possibly even kissing if this went well.

“All right,” Farkas said, having given this no thought whatsoever. “I'll be your date for tonight, and you can tell your pa whatever you like, and I'll happily beat up anyone who's harassing you. You just need to ask.”

The relief in Kaie's eyes just made her look even prettier. Never mind the warpaint and the scars and the fur armour that was the polar opposite of a princess's party dress. Farkas just saw a fellow warrior and a really pretty one at that. Of course he'd help.

“Of course, there's a price,” Farkas said, not entirely forgetting he was a mercenary when all was said and done. Kaie nodded.

“Of course. I'll give you two hundred septims for your time, is that fair?”

Two hundred septims? For pretending to be a boyfriend? That made him sound like some sort of jigga- jiggle- juglo- boy-whore from Cyrodiil that Cicero kept going on about as a potential sideline if Jorrvaskr wasn't paying enough. No thanks.

“Keep your gold,” Farkas growled. “I know what I want.” He leaned in closer and slipped an arm round her.

“Farkas?” Kaie whispered, looking nervous. “What- look, it's not like that! I'm not sleeping with you for this!”

What? Well of course not, he was a Companion! You didn't use sex to pay for stuff no matter what Cicero claimed.

“Oh! Oh, no, of course not,” Farkas laughed, leaning back. “I just... wanted to kiss you. If you do that, I'll pretend to be your man for the evening and we don't need to do anything more than that, promise. Companion's honour.”

Kaie raised an eyebrow, but did smile at that. “All right, Thand-Gwador. Come here.” She beckoned him forward and tilted her head up, lips meeting his and Farkas closed his eyes, knowing this was probably nothing for her, not like she cared or anything, she just wanted a big burly warrior to look tough but one she knew had a code... but by the Eight kissing her was nice and Farkas couldn't help but open his mouth beneath hers and pull her closer.

By some miracle Kaie responded, crawling on to his lap and kissing him harder, arms around him as she nestled closer, grinding into him and Farkas could do this all day. Especially because she was moaning and running fingers through her hair and he was this close to picking her up and running back to her room with her and sod the party.

But he'd made a promise and so he broke it off, sliding her off his knee with more than a few regrets and letting her sit back down on the bench again.

“OK, you're paid in full, you got me for the evening,” Farkas gasped. Kaie nodded breathlessly, taking him by the hand.

“Just the evening?” Kaie gasped and Farkas could feel his cock twitch already.

“That's extra, I'll want more kisses for that,” Farkas replied, wishing it was honourable to use things beyond kissing as payment for things, but also knowing he was pushing the limit as it was.

But Kaie was a woman grown and no blushing maiden, and she smiled, squeezing his hand.

“Well then, I'll be sure to let you know if I need anything else,” Kaie murmured in his ear as she got to her feet, holding out her hand. “Come on. Let's go and introduce you. Time you made your debut as my not-lover, hmm?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Elisif was sitting on the sidelines, watching the rest of the party, Uaile having brought her a non-alcoholic cocktail called a Mara's Mercy which seemed to be snowberries and a bit of lime citron and some frost magic. It was nice too, but all the same, Elisif had seen the full menu and while she ordinarily loved being pregnant, it was a bit of a shame to see everyone else drinking exciting drinks like the Red Mountain and the Unrelenting Force and Namira's Bite (a particular favourite of Eola's) while she was stuck with the ones that would leave her depressingly sober. 

It was especially galling to be stuck sitting here because standing up and mingling would tire her out, which meant she got ignored and got lonely, and her husband was out there talking to half the gathering and appearing to be having the time of his life.

Hard not to feel a little resentful, and then she remembered they had that empathy bond now and he was picking up on this. A presence in her mind like a caress on the cheek, worry and gentle affection, and she looked up to see him glancing in her direction, frowning a little. Elisif smiled and blew him a kiss, feeling the familiar thrill as he grinned, little spike of excitement and surprise from him, and turned back to talking to Idgrod. He did love her, Elisif knew that, and she was glad he was enjoying himself... but all the same, Elisif was tired and bored and wished she could just take him to bed and have him to herself for a bit.

She should have asked Uaile to stay. As it was, her housecarl was off catching up with her father and Elisif felt guilty about interfering with that. So here she was sitting on her own and sipping a drink that was going to leave her sober.

Or at least she was until she heard a rustle of silk and turned to see green and gold fabric woven in a style so impossibly elegant it made Elisif feel dowdy by comparison as the Thalmor Ambassador, out of her robes for once, settled next to her, snapping shut her ebony and mother of pearl fan and smiling at her. 

Elisif could feel the temperature rising or was it just her? Elenwen had been attractive, in a rather condescending manner, but Sabrinda was something else, a beautiful elven goddess sculpted out of spun gold. And here she was, singling Elisif out.

“Hello Ambassador,” Elisif said nervously, always feeling insecure and off her game next to Sabrinda. Even Madanach confessed she made him nervous, and if that was the case, how was she supposed to react?

“Hello High Queen,” Sabrinda said, amused. “Which one of the exotic beverages is that?”

“One of the Aedric ones,” Elisif sighed. Nine cocktails named after the Aedra were on the menu, all supposed to be non-alcoholic: the Dawn of Akatosh, the Breath of Arkay, Mara's Mercy, Dibella's Kiss, Stendarr's Vigil, Zenithar's Coin-Purse, Voice of Kynareth, Julianos's Staff and He Who Must Not Be Named. Elisif had seen Sabrinda glaring at Madanach, who had cheerfully pointed out that that last one actually had distilled Stros M'Kai rum in it, so it wasn't really non-alcoholic at all, just as Talos wasn't really one of the Divines. Sabrinda's eyes had got very cold at that, and her mood hadn't improved when Delphine had sauntered by and ordered two of them for her and Esbern, but even the Thalmor couldn't arrest someone for a jokey drinks menu.

“That's probably for the best, some of those drinks look quite dangerous,” Sabrinda said, wry smile on her face as she glanced at the little crowd of younger attendees, or relatively low-ranking at least – Eola, Cicero, Argis, Ingun, Vilkas and Ria – sitting in a little group and taking it in turns to perform some ritual involving citron slices, salt and those little glasses about the size of an Orc's big toe, half-filled with jenever. Cicero's shrieking when it was his turn was audible over the entire Keep. Elisif envied them. It sounded like a good time was being had.

“I imagine they probably are,” Elisif sighed, patting her belly. “I'm not really supposed to have anything stronger than weak ale though. It's a shame, but Madanach's promised we'll have the mixologist back next year so maybe I'll try some then.”

“Maybe,” Sabrinda said, laughing. “All I will say is avoid the Mehrunes' Razor. I don't know what uaisge is supposed to be but Meryn had to sit down and cast a few healing spells after a few drinks with that in them.”

“Like jenever but super-distilled and more potatoes relative to juniper,” Elisif said, feeling very proud of herself for knowing that. “Madanach says there isn't a lot of the really good stuff as it takes one hundred years to make, but there's plenty of five year stuff and he's expecting to start raking it in once this year's crop matures.”

“Impressive,” Sabrinda murmured. “I admire his optimism, assuming things will be the same in a century as they are now. That's almost Alinorian of him.”

Elisif didn't like the sound of that and she straightened up, recalling that the Thalmor Ambassador's country had been at war with hers only three decades ago, and things weren't so stable as everyone liked to think. Madanach had told her repeatedly the Thalmor were up to no good, as had Delphine, and while both were prone to paranoia, Elisif had been alarmed to find Eola shared their opinions, advising her to be on her guard around them.

“Madanach's a great admirer of Elven cultures, all the Reachmen are,” Elisif said. That at least was true. The Reachmen were very proud indeed of being descended from elves, the Reach being the last bastion of the Aldmer before they'd been driven from this land and you still occasionally got pointy-eared Reachmen today. It was considered a sign of good luck.

“I'm glad to hear it, it makes a refreshing change,” Sabrinda said bitterly, and Elisif did feel a bit sorry for her. It couldn't be easy being so far from home. 

“You miss Alinor?” Elisif asked softly.

“Every day,” Sabrinda sighed. “Skyrim's so cold...” She stared off into the distance, frowning, something clearly bothering her, before turning sharply back to Elisif.

“High Queen, I need to ask you something. I need... well, I need a favour.”

A favour? From her? Elisif couldn't imagine what that might be.

“What sort of favour?” she asked. Surely the Thalmor didn't need her help for much.

“I didn't have to come here,” Sabrinda said quietly. “I could have stayed in Alinor, I had a very nice posting back there, Meryn's got a vast country estate just outside the city, I had everything. But I chose to be the Thalmor Ambassador to Skyrim and the Reach, and my husband chose to leave his thriving business in our son's hands and join me, bringing our little girl with us. Doesn't that all strike you as odd, High Queen?”

“A – a bit?” Elisif said, confused as to where this was going, and now she thought about it, it was a bit strange as to why a high-ranked Thalmor Justiciar would leave the Summerset Isles for what was probably a less prestigious job out here. Especially bringing a spouse and a young child with her. Poor little Cali must have had her entire life uprooted. So if it wasn't all for Sabrinda's career advancement, and there'd been other qualified candidates available, why was Sabrinda here?

“My daughter's missing,” Sabrinda said quietly and for a heartstopping moment, Elisif thought it was Ancalime she meant, oh gods, this Keep was huge, she could be anywhere... and then it occurred to Elisif that Sabrinda probably had another one.

“What happened?” Elisif asked, feeling for her even if she was apparently an enemy of all humanity. Right now, all Elisif was seeing was a mother worried for her child, and Elisif could certainly empathise there.

“She wanted to see the world, study magic,” Sabrinda said, no longer looking at Elisif, just staring at the ground and toying with her fan. “So we eventually gave in and got her an exit visa to go to Cyrodiil and study there. That was six years ago now. We've not seen her since, although the letters home came on a regular basis. She was having such a good time out there. Making friends. Learning new things. Then they stopped. And then we found out there'd been an incident in Bruma, some oaf of a human had taken liberties with her, there'd been a fight, she'd killed him, accidentally I'm sure, but the guards had taken notice and tried to arrest her. She'd fled the city after killing four of them. No one's seen or heard from her since.”

“The poor thing,” Elisif whispered and while she didn't condone murder, she also suspected the girl was young, away from home and had just been defending herself. “When was all this?”

“A year ago, more in fact. 15Th Last Seed was when this whole incident happened,” Sabrinda said quietly. “Oh don't worry, money talks as it always has – we paid her bounty, calmed the whole thing down, I've had my contacts in Cyrodiil out looking for her. But we never found her. It's as if she's just vanished. I'm worried she fled the country entirely.”

Fled Bruma... over the border... to Skyrim. Leaving Bruma on 15th Last Seed last year – Mara help them, if she'd survived the Pass itself, she'd have got into Skyrim two days after that. Just in time for Alduin's return and Helgen's destruction.

“Oh...” Elisif breathed, tears in her eyes. “You think she's in Skyrim.” Yes, use present tense, act like she's still alive, act like the girl wasn't eaten by Alduin in Helgen. That's if she had actually come to Skyrim, but really she could be anywhere.

“She might be,” Sabrinda said quietly. “I don't know for sure. But the not knowing is killing me and... when this job came up, I had to take it. Had to come out here myself and look. After all this time, no one else in the Thalmor is taking it seriously any more, they all keep telling me to move on and mourn her, she's either with Auriel now or will turn up but I can't...!”

Elisif couldn't help it. She'd closed the gap between them and taken Sabrinda's hand.

“I'll help you look,” Elisif whispered. “I mean, I'll send word to the other Jarls, see if anyone's seen her or heard of her and...” _And the official Helgen death toll's kept at Castle Dour, I can see if there's an unidentified Altmer female among them._

“You would?” Sabrinda asked, looking up, surprised... and relieved and happy and goodness the Thalmor Ambassador was pretty. Elisif nodded and couldn't help but blush as Sabrinda's face lit up.

“Thank you,” Sabrinda breathed, relieved. “I'll tell Meryndor, he'll be so pleased, all this has been so hard on him, he never even wanted her to go in the first place. Her name is Liriel, she's about six foot tall, red hair like mine but she has her father's eyes. And she was a skilled mage before she even left the Isles, particularly good at Destruction and Conjuration, but she's not bad with healing spells either. I don't know where she might go, but anywhere a mage might blend in, or that might need a healer. I tried circulating her description to some of the Jarls, saying she was a person of interest to us, but they've not been that helpful. I thought maybe you...”

“I'll do everything I can,” Elisif promised. “If she's in Skyrim, we'll find her.” 

It was a pretty big if, it had to be said. But Elisif had contacts, Elisif had influence, Elisif knew who to prod and how. Elisif would do what it took to track this Liriel down.

Sabrinda took her leave, no doubt to tell her husband they'd got somewhere, and as if out of nowhere, Elisif's own husband emerged, silent on Muffle-charmed feet. Elisif really hated it when he did that.

“What did she want?” Madanach growled, coming to sit next to her, glaring at Sabrinda's retreating back. “I could feel you, you know. You were all sad and horrified and yet determined. What's going on?”

“Her daughter's missing,” Elisif said, and hastily corrected herself as she felt the tide of rising panic from Madanach. “No, not Ancalime. She's got another one, called Liriel. She disappeared last year and Sabrinda thinks she might be hiding in Skyrim. There was some trouble with the law in Cyrodiil apparently. Sabrinda's really worried about her! So I said I'd help look. She left Alinor to study magic – your sister runs that training institute, doesn't she?”

“Ye-es,” Madanach said warily. “Elisif, are you absolutely sure this isn't some sort of trick to flush a Thalmor dissident out of hiding?”

“Of course I'm sure!” Elisif hissed. “Listen to yourself, you're starting to sound like Delphine now!”

“She's a friend to the Reach, which is more than I can say for the Thalmor – the machinations of those bastards are the reason I lost my throne in the first place,” Madanach growled. “I really don't like being any more helpful to them than I have to be.” He noticed the scowl on Elisif's face and gave in. “All right. I will ask Keirine if she's at Hag's End and if she can check with the other Hags, see if they have any trainees. I will also ask Delphine if she knows of her – don't think there's any Altmer in her organisation, but she might have heard of her.”

Elisif squeezed Madanach's hand and kissed his cheek. Sabrinda might be the epitome of elegance but the one she actually loved and trusted was the Reachman beside her. On the outside, he responded to the display of affection by muttering and rather grudgingly putting an arm around her... but she could feel him down the bond now, and inside she could feel this wistful yearning that told her a very different story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The intrigue is already starting, isn't it? Next chapter involves Kaie introducing Farkas to her relatives, Cicero and Kodlak having their own issues, and all sorts of drama erupts as certain parties have had far too much to drink...
> 
> Uaisge is pronounced 'you-ice-gay' and is basically Reach whiskey.


	4. Kissing the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Expensive alcohol and a room full of secrets make for an explosive combination, especially when the love affairs of Madanach's female kin cause consternation, and one guest in particular doesn't know when to stop. Meanwhile Kodlak wishes he could wholeheartedly love and approve of his son, but Cicero doesn't make it easy...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the second half of the Liberation Day party, where it all kicks off in style. Warnings for sexual harassment, a punch-up, endangering one's health to impress a woman, cross-species flirtation, shamelessly setting up three young children and getting them in trouble with their father, family rows and Madanach probably wishing he'd never bothered.

Someone else who was feeling a bit on the sidelines was Kodlak Whitemane. Farkas was still off who knew where with Kaie. Vilkas and Ria had joined Cicero and Eola for some sort of drinking session that had started off with sampling lots of different cocktails and passing them around, then all sorts of ridiculous drinking games and had now turned into a concerted effort to try and get Argis drunk. Apparently Briarheart warriors were almost immune to poison, which made it very hard to get them intoxicated, but Eola and Ingun were doing their best to try.

Kodlak was watching from the sidelines, envying them. He couldn't approve of either the Dark Brotherhood or the darker side of Reach-magic, but he did remember being a young warrior, just about, and he had some very fond memories of knocking back the ale and singing songs of victory. Watching his son and granddaughter and the man he'd practically raised having a good time was bringing back some memories.

The scuffling under the chair brought back memories of an entirely different sort and he leaned down to see what exactly was sneaking up on him. He didn't think there were any assassins in the Keep – not ones that weren't currently trying to sample every drink in the place anyway – but it paid to be careful. Unless it was a skeever, of course, but Kodlak was certain there were none of them in this place.

It turned out to be neither. Staring back at him was a little Altmer in a sparkly green dress and a pretty silver necklace shaped like a butterfly, and matching hair grips in her red hair.

Kodlak had heard there was a little girl Altmer running around somewhere, the Thalmor Ambassador's daughter apparently, and while he had no love for the Thalmor, it wasn't the little one's fault who her parents were.

“Hello there, lass,” Kodlak said gently, getting off the bench and kneeling next to her. “What are you doing down there?”

The little girl whispered something completely inaudible. The poor thing looked terrified. She glanced off to one side and Kodlak saw a pointy-eared doll wedged between bench and wall, upside-down and looking as if it had been dropped, probably from the balcony up above. The little elf clearly wanted her toy back.

Kodlak sat up and retrieved it, holding it out to her.

“There you are, little one. Did you drop it?”

Delight in the little girl's eyes as she took the doll off him, squeezing it tight.

“Thank you!” she whispered, crawling out from under the bench. She looked at his armour with no little interest. 

“Are you a ReachGuard? You don't look like a ReachGuard,” the girl said, brow furrowing. Clearly the only sort of human warrior she knew about were the city guards and she was wondering if he was one of Markarth's even though her own eyes must have told her no.

“No lass, my name's Kodlak Whitemane and I'm a guest here, same as you. The Reach-King invited me partly because my son lives here and partly for business. I don't think I know your name though.”

“I'm Ancalime,” the girl said, getting to her feet and dropping a polite curtsey before sitting down on the bench. “And I'm thirty five and a half, and my parents are Meryndor and Sabrinda – Ambassador Sabrinda,” she added, clearly having been well-schooled in how to introduce herself to adults. Altmer parents were evidently big on formality, which was no surprise. The age though, that shocked him a bit. Heavens, he knew elves aged slowly, but the reality of an elf born before the Great War still being a child was going to take some getting used to. 

“Well, I'm very pleased to meet you, Ancalime. Are you enjoying the party?”

Hesitation, and Kodlak guessed a little girl was probably not going to be having the best time at a party where she knew no one and the other children were humans who might not be keen on an elf playing with them.

“Everyone looks very pretty,” Ancalime ventured. “And I liked the illusion show! Even if it was a bit sad in parts. What happened to the little girl who got stolen by Nords? You know, Keirine?”

Kodlak glanced to where the First Matriarch of the Forsworn, fairly glimmering with illusion charms that gave her the appearance of a silver-haired beauty in a sky-blue flowing dress, was talking to Delphine and Esbern.

“She turned out all right in the end,” Kodlak reassured her, deciding that explaining Hagravens to the Thalmor Ambassador's little girl was a job best left alone. “Now she helps her brother look after the Reach. She's a sort of priestess and court mage. That's her over there, although she's a very important woman so best left well alone.”

Ancalime oohed, but she did smile.

“I'm glad she got away in the end,” Ancalime whispered. “And that her brother got out of prison and got to be king. I met him earlier, he seems like a nice man.”

Nice man was pushing it a bit, but even Madanach could be kind to children at least.

“He can be when he wants to be,” Kodlak admitted. 

“And his wife, that's High Queen Elisif,” Ancalime said, looking a bit confused. “How come she's High Queen but he's not High King?”

An awkward question if ever there was one, but Kodlak did his best.

“Ah, well, she's High Queen of Skyrim, because each part of Skyrim has its own ruler, or Jarl, and she's High Queen because she's in charge of all of them. But the Reach is a separate country now, and Madanach is King here, and Elisif's not in charge of him.”

“But they got married anyway,” Ancalime said. Kodlak nodded.

“That's right. It was felt there'd be less chance of a war breaking out if the Reach's King married Skyrim's Queen – what is it, little one?”

Ancalime was looking faintly disbelieving.

“Is that what they told everyone so no one got upset at him marrying one of the Nords?” Ancalime asked, grinning. “It's all right, you can tell me, I won't tell anyone. But they didn't get married just for that, they obviously fell in love at first sight like in the stories. I mean, look at them, they were kissing earlier like they really loved each other and there they are up near the throne cuddling. So they must be in love, mustn't they?”

Kodlak decided not to argue, and besides she was sort of right, and for all Kodlak knew it really had been love at first sight for them both.

“Yes, all right, they love each other very much but don't tell anyone,” Kodlak whispered conspiratorially. Ancalime giggled, looking very triumphant at having worked that one out.

“Knew it!” she whispered. “No one gets married just to stop a war!”

Kodlak had a feeling marriages in elven cultures were a lot less politically motivated than among humans and Ancalime in any case was too young to have been told otherwise.

“Harbinger, Harbinger, dearest Harbinger!”

And speaking of children, his own had just arrived, still on his feet despite the number of shots he'd had, face a bit flushed and his hat on crooked but apart from that, still the same old Cicero. The Jester Dragonborn flopped down next to Kodlak, draping an arm around his shoulders while his free hand clutched a pink drink. Definitely not sober.

“Hello Cicero,” Kodlak sighed. “How is your evening going?”

“Very well indeed, dearest father, there are lots and lots of fancy drinks and everyone is being very nice to sweet Cicero, and all his friends are here, or lots of them at any rate, and Cicero is having a marvellous time! All Cicero needs now is a fight and a good stabbing, and his evening will be complete. But Cicero doesn't think Madanach will be very pleased if a fight starts.” Cicero looked very disappointed at the prospect of no blood being spilt. Once upon a time, Kodlak would have agreed that an evening was not complete without a brawl breaking out, but the years had mellowed him and becoming acquainted with Cicero did have the effect of making everyone start taking a long hard look at their attitudes to violence.

Ancalime had taken a long, hard look at Cicero and gasped.

“ _You're the Jester Dragonborn!_ ” she squealed. “Like in the story! You're the one who saved the city from the Stormcloaks! Did you really fly on a dragon's back?”

Cicero had stared back, face blank, blinking rapidly and then he had broken into a grin, giggling.

“Yes! Yes! I am, I am! I did ride a dragon, I did, I did! And still do sometimes. His name is Odahviing and he's a dear dear friend of mine.”

“Wow,” Ancalime whispered, staring up at Cicero in rapt adoration. “You must be really brave.”

“Oh, it was nothing, dear child, nothing at all,” Cicero giggled, blushing a little. “Cicero is just a little fool with a gift for removing what must be removed, nothing more. Eola thinks I'm brave though – well, what she actually says is that people say humble Cicero is either brave or insane but she's quite sure which of the two it is.” Cicero beamed as if this was a compliment. Ancalime glanced at Kodlak, clearly unsure how to react to this. Nor was Kodlak to be honest, but the important thing was to keep smiling.

“Why do you wear a jester hat? Are you really a jester?”

“Yes!” Cicero giggled. “I tell jokes! Funny jokes! And perform merry japes at the drop of a hat!” He promptly took his hat off and dropped it on the floor, giggling as he did, before hastily picking it up and dusting it off and replacing it on his head. It still wasn't on straight.

“You're not going to be telling the horker joke, I trust?” Kodlak sighed. It had been funny the first time, but after several hundred repetitions, it was starting to get old. That and it wasn't remotely suitable for telling around children.

“Oh no, no, Cicero has been told by the Li – by many people that he is not to tell that one tonight. Apparently it is... unsuitable.”

“Why is it unsuitable?” Ancalime asked, wide-eyed and curious. Kodlak felt his breath catch in his throat as he glanced at Cicero, not entirely trusting him not to launch into a full explanation... but mercifully Cicero had enough sense not to go into detail.

“Oh, it is not at all interesting for a well-bred little girl such as yourself,” Cicero cooed. “You would not understand it. It is very vulgar, very vulgar indeed and utterly unsuitable for a refined occasion such as this.”

“Oh.” Then. “Ohhh! Is it about privies?” Ancalime was looking very sly as she grinned knowingly up at Cicero. Cicero and Kodlak exchanged looks then decided to seize this avenue of escape.

“I'm afraid so, lass.”

“Filthy. Awful. Cicero wishes he could wipe it from his brain, but alas it is too late now,” Cicero sighed, shrugging as he giggled, and then decided to swiftly change the subject. “So, sweet little child, why are you here by yourself? Did you not wish to play with the other children?”

Ancalime's smile died as she looked at her feet, all the enjoyment being sucked out of her and Kodlak could guess from this that she'd tried and it hadn't gone well.

“I tried playing with the Jarl of Whiterun's children, but Dagny made fun of my ears and Frothar said I was a filthy Talos-stealer and then Nelkir threw Miss Primrose over the balcony,” Ancalime whispered. “I – I was coming to get her when you found me.”

Kodlak felt his heart go out to her, and wished there was more he could do to help. Whatever her mother's sins, Ancalime did not deserve the ill-treatment. He'd offer to have a word with Balgruuf but he knew full well he'd dismiss it as kids being kids. He glanced at Cicero, surprised to see him pouting as well, then glancing up with narrowed eyes at where the Jarl's kids were hanging around, making pointed comments about how bored they were. 

Perhaps if they'd been a bit nicer to the child who'd wanted to play with them, they might be having a more interesting evening now. 

“Leave it to humble Cicero,” Cicero purred. “He shall go and deal with the problem for you.” Scampering off on noiseless boots, he crept to where the Jarl's kids had carelessly left their non-alcoholic cocktails on a low table, one of which was a pink drink looking exactly like his. Before Kodlak could stop him, he'd swapped the pink drinks around and crept away... before breaking cover and bouncing over to Balgruuf and Irileth.

“Balgruuf, Jarl Balgruuf, Cicero has just seen your _lovely_ children!” Cicero could clearly be heard cooing. “They are having a simply wonderful time drinking their alcohol-free cocktails. It is a very good thing none of them have managed to acquire any of the grown-up ones by some subterfuge or other, isn't it? As it is, none of them have done so and so Cicero doesn't need to report underage drinking to anyone. It really is very fortunate, isn't it, my Jarl?”

Oh sweet Talos, his son really was an utter scoundrel.

“Very,” Balgruuf said warily. “Madanach, why's the Dragonborn babbling nonsense at me?”

“You ever known him to babble anything else?” Madanach growled, newly arrived from cuddling Elisif and not pleased at his little romantic interlude being interrupted by seeing Cicero talking to someone important and feeling an urgent need to intervene. “Cicero, why are you bothering the Jarl of Whiterun?”

“Oh, Cicero was just saying how nice it was to see the Jarl's children having such a good time,” Cicero cooed. “And that none of them have acquired an alcoholic drink by means of subterfuge, no not at all, so Cicero doesn't need to report anything untoward, no, nothing!”

Balgruuf might have been confused by Cicero's meanderings, but Madanach got the point all too well.

“I need to have a word with my bar staff, excuse me,” Madanach growled. “Balgruuf, I suggest you check your children's drinks.”

“At once, milord,” Irileth said smoothly, her suspicions also roused, and Cicero skipped off, triumphant smirk all over his face as he went to the bar to replace his children's drink with a proper one, just in time for Madanach to catch him doing it, see through his plan... and pat him on the back before telling the bar manager to never mind. What Madanach singularly failed to do was share this knowledge with Irileth, who was shouting at the three children and frogmarching all of them off to bed, with Balgruuf not far behind her and tersely informing them all they weren't coming to any more grown-up parties if this was the behaviour he could expect.

Ancalime had seen the whole thing and had her hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh.

“Don't look too impressed, my son's an unrepentant rogue,” Kodlak sighed. “That was not honourable behaviour, lass, so don't you go thinking you're allowed to do that.”

Cicero returned at that point and he wasn't alone. Trailing behind him was a young Imperial of about eleven or twelve, dressed in a fancy black tunic with red lining, and leggings to match, who took one look at Ancalime and blushed.

“Aventus, Aventus, this is Ancalime, the little elf the Thalmor brought with them,” Cicero chirped, indicating Ancalime, who'd got to her feet and was staring back at the boy. “She is feeling very lonely and the Jarl of Whiterun's children were being mean to her, so Cicero was thinking you could entertain her! You and that boy from Morthal.”

“I... sure!” Aventus breathed. “I mean, whatever you want, Cicero. Er... I mean, hi Ancalime! I'm Aventus.”

“Hello Aventus,” Ancalime whispered back, also blushing. Then she realised she was still clutching her doll and promptly hid it behind her back, laughing nervously. 

“Er... the doll's a gift from my father, I was going to leave her behind but he looked upset so I brought her along to keep him happy. You know how it is.”

“Yeah. I know,” Aventus laughed, offering her an arm. “Did you want to come and play with me and Joric? We were playing hide and seek but he always seems to know where I am. It'll be much more fun with three of us.”

Ancalime nodded, looking a bit breathless and was about to take his arm before remembering her manners and turning to Kodlak and Cicero.

“It was lovely to meet you, Sirrah Kodlak and Sirrah Cicero,” Ancalime said, dropping into a curtsey.

“You too, Ancalime. Enjoy the rest of the party,” Kodlak said, and even though his son's methods were over the line, he had to admit the cause was just. Cicero did a formal bow himself and then waved as the two children ran off, before sitting down next to his father, looking very pleased with himself, and having the nerve to turn to Kodlak as if seeking some sort of approval.

“What?” Kodlak said wearily. “Don't look like that, you just set up three young children for doing something they didn't and you're not remotely sorry.”

“Should I be?” Cicero asked, wide-eyed. “The crime they did do was going to go unpunished. Cicero merely evened the balance.”

This, this was the most dangerous thing about Cicero. Stabbing Kodlak could deal with. It was taking basic moral principles and inverting them completely, that was the real danger with Cicero. His twisted logic could make wrong seem right and justice seem utterly unjust.

“You are an utter scoundrel,” Kodlak sighed, deciding not to argue the point. “Honestly, how you've managed to convince the world you're a hero is beyond me.”

“Madanach and the Listener put together the script for the light show, not Cicero,” the little jester shrugged. “Cicero does not brag about his exploits, Cicero simply does them and lets his betters work out the story.”

“Or in your case, an alibi,” Kodlak muttered, knowing full well an awful lot had been left out and not just for concision either. No mention about Dark Brotherhood contracts or the Blades or just how the Emperor had died exactly, and Kodlak was just thankful Cicero had been fighting Alduin in Sovngarde when the assassination happened. Kodlak wasn't exactly surprised at the omissions, but that they'd been necessary said an awful lot about Reach-King and Dragonborn both.

Said Dragonborn had gone very quiet, clutching his pink drink rather harder than was strictly necessary. When he did speak, the usual manic levity was gone completely.

“Cicero saved the world, killed the World-Eater, killed another Dragonborn and stopped him enslaving an entire island, helped root out corruption in your own organisation that you hadn't seen,” Cicero growled. “What more do I have to do? You have a Dragonborn son and you still think he's not good enough??” He was looking up now, eyes flashing furiously, and yet Kodlak could see the anguish lying beneath it.

“It isn't that,” Kodlak sighed, feeling horrible for this and yet knowing that so long as Cicero remained an unrepentant assassin, he was going to find it hard to really accept him as he wanted. “Lad, don't think for a second I'm not proud of all your triumphs. But being a Companion means living such that your Shield-Siblings would proudly say they fought at your side. There's been many occasions that's been true... but how many other times have there been when any man or woman of honour would have believed the only honourable way forward was killing you?”

Cicero didn't answer, just tossing back the remains of his pink drink and getting up, only swaying a little.

“Many,” he finally said, eyes dark. “And we do not sing publicly of those, no. Cicero's younger years will not be getting displayed in a light show, not ever. But Cicero cares not. That any of Cicero's deeds are worthy of song, that is more than he ever hoped for. And Cicero has also heard that Tiber Septim himself did many things in his younger years that would not be getting songs written about them either. Kill them one at a time and you are a murderer – kill hundreds in one big battle, and you are a great general. Kill a man with a knife and you are an assassin, kill him with your pet dragon and they make light shows about you. Cicero cannot fathom it, but no one ever said Nords were logical.” Cicero shrugged, laughing all of a sudden. “Perhaps Cicero should give up, hmm? Accept his father as he is, maybe? It's only fair, I suppose.”

“Cicero, wait,” Kodlak cried, feeling a sudden sense of guilt, and while part of him felt annoyed that of them both, he was the one feeling guilty, a deeper part of himself was whispering that if he'd bothered looking harder, assumed Stelmaria hadn't abandoned him, found Cicero young and brought him to Jorrvaskr, things wouldn't be like this. His son would be an unargued hero, not a murderer who occasionally did heroic things. But he had the son he did, and it was his own fault at root. 

Cicero did at least stop, just barely sparing him a glance.

“I'm sorry, lad,” Kodlak sighed. “I know... look, I am proud of you. And I do love you. And I'm sorry I was never there for you and your mother when you were young. It is just hard, that's all. But you are my son and I will always be here for you.”

Cicero nodded mutely but he didn't look happy. Kodlak got to his own feet and put an arm around Cicero, and Cicero at least didn't push him away. 

“Thank you,” Cicero said quietly. “Cicero does love you, father. Cicero just wishes... oh but there is no help for it, hmm? You are who you are, Cicero is who he is. We just have to make the best of it.”

They did... but Kodlak wished he could truly make his boy smile. All parents should be able to unconditionally love their children... and Kodlak considered it a deeply shaming thing that he couldn't quite do it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Delphine was trying to work out if she was having a good time or not. On the one hand, the Thalmor were here and Delphine had had an unnerving conversation with Meryndor who'd been a bit too curious about what she did for the Reach-King. Balgruuf had seen through the illusions immediately and been very surprised indeed to discover she was really Dalviona, a special ops agent for the Reach and Madanach's cousin. But he'd agreed to keep quiet that he recognised her. 

But on the other hand, the drinks were nice, Cicero seemed to be having a good time and more importantly was behaving himself, Aventus was having fun playing with Joric Ravencrone and little Ancalime, and Esbern was enjoying the chance to get out of the Temple for once, presently talking dragons with Jarl Brina and Rikke, who'd been surprised to learn the Reach had their own dragon expert, but seemed interested. Yes, this had been worth it.

“Dalviona. There you are.” Keirine breezed in, gritting her teeth and glaring over her shoulder. “Come, look like we are having a simply _fascinating_ conversation.”

Oh good, intrigue. How Delphine had missed this. All the same, she couldn't quite resist the temptation to give in. She wasn't really the partying type, she'd been getting a little bored, and the First Matriarch needing help was piquing her interest.

“What do you need?” Delphine asked, taking Keirine's arm and leading her off. “Is it a job?”

“At this rate, quite possibly,” Keirine growled. “But right now, all I need is a distraction. I find myself beset with suitors, which is unexpected at my age, but not unwelcome if they weren't insufferable.” Keirine led Delphine to the bar, ordering a Nightshade Surprise for herself and a Dragon Blood for Delphine.

“Suitors?” Delphine asked, dying to know more about this. “Do they know...?”

“No,” Keirine grinned. “Or they would not be harassing me, I assure you.” She looked up at Delphine, hard and angry look in her eyes despite the smile. “Liberation Day in the Reach but are we truly free, Lathroniel? My brother is King and I his sister and First Matriarch, but even here in his own Keep, I am beset by unwanted attention and he can apparently do nothing. Because one is his wife's thane.”

Ah. Erikur. How the man was still breathing was a mystery to Delphine. He must have enemies, those enemies must have coin... and yet no contract. Even Maven hadn't called one in. Apparently he'd not bothered her enough to be worth spending money on removing.

“You'd always have to deal with the politics though,” Delphine sighed. “The Reach doesn't exist in a vacuum, even if you weren't in the Empire, you can't just openly murder people you don't like.”

“Murder?” Keirine laughed, bitterness in every syllable. “I would settle for taking a stand. But no, he doesn't want to make things awkward for his wife. So his kin suffer instead.” She shook her head, seeming weary and sad, and given Madanach had apparently started the Forsworn in the first place to avenge his sister's abduction and rape at the hands of the Nords, for her to be suffering unwanted Nordic attentions now the battle was won must be extremely galling.

“Are you sure you don't want me to have him poisoned, I've got an alchemy specialist in this very room,” Delphine murmured, but Keirine shook her head. 

“No. Murdering him here would be suspicious so for now, we endure. But one day, he will pay,” Keirine said, narrowing her eyes, and yes, here it was, there'd be a contract soon, Delphine could tell. She was already looking forward to it.

“Er... Auntie?” 

Keirine looked up, and there was Kaie, standing there and looking extremely nervous. Which was unusual for her. 

“Cariad. What is it?” Keirine asked. “Did you need something?”

“No, I... there's someone I'd like you to meet,” Kaie said, fidgeting rather awkwardly as she beckoned someone forward. “Auntie, this is Farkas. Farkas, this is Lady Keirine, First Matriarch of the Reach and my aunt on Da's side.”

Farkas shuffled forward, looking a little embarrassed but smiling. 

“Hey there. It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am.” He even bowed. Not with any great grace or style, but Farkas the Companion was definitely trying.

Kaie was watching him, smiling as he straightened up and looking very proud of him as she took his arm, before turning hopefully back to Keirine.

Keirine looked as surprised as Delphine felt, because Delphine had not seen this coming and she had Eola keeping an eye on the Reach court and Cicero reporting back all the Jorrvaskr gossip, and neither had said a thing about Kaie and Farkas hooking up, or even any suspicions that either had a mystery partner. This was a very sudden development.

“You truly do have someone,” Keirine said, intrigued. “Or someone willing to act as a decoy. I don't entirely blame you. Have you told your father yet – no, of course not, we'd all know if he knew.”

“Know what?” Oh now here was trouble. Madanach himself seeing his daughter re-appear and wanting a reckoning about the mystery boyfriend. Not a mystery for much longer.

“Da,” Kaie said stiffly, turning to face him. “Da, this is Farkas. He's... we're seeing each other. You wanted to meet him. Here he is.”

Madanach had gone quite still, brain processing the thought of his beloved heir to the throne with a Companion of Jorrvaskr, particularly one who'd attacked a lot of Forsworn camps in his time. As expected, he was not pleased.

“You've pledged yourself to a Companion of Jorrvaskr,” Madanach growled.

Kaie nodded, refusing to budge. “Pledged is not the word I'd use, but I'm fond of him,” Kaie said. “And you didn't object to Eola being with Cicero, and he's a Companion too.”

“Cicero saved my city from an invading army, that one has attacked my camps on a regular fucking basis over the last two decades!” Madanach seethed. “You honestly think I want to see my eldest daughter married off to a Nord wer- warrior??”

“I don't care what you want, I'm keeping him!” Kaie shouted. “If it's a choice between him and the other eligible men I've seen tonight, I'll take him any day! He's a good man and an honourable one, and even if we were on opposite sides once, I'd rather have a strong warrior in my bed than some milk-drinker who's never wielded a blade in his life!”

Madanach's eyes widened and he actually hissed, before turning to where Kodlak had just arrived with Cicero. 

“Did you know about this?” Madanach snarled. “About him and my daughter?”

“Not a clue, although they were flirting a little the other day. I didn't know it had actually gone anywhere, or that they'd even met before we got here – Farkas, are you sure about this?” Kodlak asked, clearly wary.

“Never surer,” said Farkas, arm around Kaie and cuddling her. “She's gorgeous. Even prettier than Eola.”

Kaie actually beamed at that, and Eola could be heard whispering “What??”, looking a little bit insulted. 

“You are aware she's killed an awful lot of people, mostly Nords and mostly innocent travellers,” Kodlak said, looking rather pointedly at Kaie. Farkas just shrugged.

“I've killed an awful lot of people too. We're at peace now. The past can stay there.”

Kodlak nodded and shrugged at Madanach, washing his hands of the matter.

“Sorry, Reach-King. I tried. But he seems insistent. As does your daughter.”

Madanach stared back at Farkas, hostility radiating from him, and his gaze didn't change much when looking at Kaie.

“This is not over, daughter,” Madanach growled, turning on his heel and striding off, radiating fury, so much so that Elisif had got to her feet and was slowly making her way over, clearly worried. Madanach put his arms around her, holding her tight and moving to one side, having a hushed but furious conversation with her. Given that Madanach from the look of it had ranted for about thirty seconds, before Elisif had folded her arms and snapped at him, causing him to immediately drop the ranting and look very contrite and pleading, Delphine had a feeling he'd get over it.

She returned to her drink, as did Keirine... and then Delphine had the sensation of someone watching her. She looked up, caught Keirine's eye, and then the two of them turned simultaneously to see Jarl Siddgeir standing there. For some reason, he was looking nervous. Delphine wondered what he was up to and then she recalled Keirine having mentioned more than one suitor.

“Do you need something, Jarl Siddgeir?” Delphine asked, and to her surprise, Keirine motioned for her to stop.

“Don't worry, Dalviona. This one is harmless. Persistent, but harmless. Well, boy? What is it? I already told you I was too old to think of courtship.”

“I know, I know, and forgive me, but... was there anything you needed?” Siddgeir asked, seemingly shorn of his usual indolence and condescension. “I mean, a woman such as yourself is hardly ineligible and while I know you can't bear children, I could always take another wife after...”

“How very romantic,” Keirine sighed, eyes rolling. “Dalviona, do you hear this. He doesn't care I'm old because I'd die soon and then he could marry a younger woman. You are in debt, aren't you. You want to wed me for my coin then have a young girl barely in adulthood to warm your bed after. Or before, maybe? Perhaps you have the contract to end me lined up already.”

“No!” Siddgeir cried. “I mean, no, that's not it at all! I mean, I – I know I only met you tonight but I – I've come to admire you greatly in a short amount of time and I would be honoured if you'd condescend to give me the privilege of your company...” The Jarl of Falkreath was actually blushing. Delphine never thought she'd see the day. Keirine was also looking very surprised.

“By the old gods, I think he's serious,” Keirine said, amazed. “Boy, I am a skilled illusionist, I could look like anything under these.”

“Oh that doesn't matter,” Siddgeir said dismissively. “Your strength now, that's what I'm interested in.”

Eyebrows raised and Keirine turned to Delphine, one domme to another, and Delphine had to try not to laugh. So someone had a bit of an older woman fetish, did he?

“Really,” Keirine said, sliding off her chair and taking his face in her hands, weaving a bright glowing light around them to hide them both from view. “So you wouldn't even care if I really looked like this?”

The light hid them both but Delphine could guess that she'd shown him her real face, because Siddgeir had shrieked and backed away.

“By the Eight,” he gasped, staggering away. “I didn't know... had no idea...”

Keirine had let the light go, redoing her illusions and looking sad as she took her seat again.

“I thought as much. Go home, Nord. You're not worthy.” She turned back to the bar... only to realise Siddgeir hadn't run away. He'd dropped to his knees alongside her, reaching out for her.

“You're nothing like in that book...” Siddgeir whispered. “Matriarch, please, let me... I'll do anything!”

Dear gods. Someone didn't just have a female domination fetish, someone had a _Hagraven_ fetish. Delphine stared at Siddgeir, before looking up at Keirine, and as both women met each other's eyes they had to bite their lips to keep from laughing.

“Anything?” Keirine asked, smirking. Siddgeir nodded.

“Yes, Matriarch,” Siddgeir whispered and Keirine motioned for him to rise.

“To be worthy of a Matriarch, one must undergo a sacred ritual of the Reachfolk,” Keirine continued, beckoning a young Reachwoman barmaid over. “The Rite of Cusad Y Creena. Yeena, the Jarl here will be requiring Red Eagle's Revenge.”

A hush had descended and before Delphine knew it, a crowd had gathered – various ReachGuard, Uaile and her father Uraccen, a few other ex-Cidhna Mine veterans, Eola, Argis, Kaie, Farkas, Vilkas, Ria, Ingun, the three children who hadn't been sent to bed for underage drinking, and then the older generation, including Maven, Esbern, Hemming, Rikke, Meryndor, Sabrinda and even Madanach having heard someone was actually trying the Red Eagle's Revenge and having to see this for himself.

A clear glass about the size of a pint tankard was produced and then a black wooden box. It looked old, with arcane symbols carved into it, and Delphine was reminded very strongly of the Black Books of Hermaeus Mora. Whatever was in that box, Delphine was very certain she did not want to drink it.

The barmaid looked uncertainly at Keirine but at her nod, opened the box. There, sitting in a pool of preserving alcohol, was a shrivelled, mummified human heart, no longer red but a dark leathery brown. It smelled vile.

The barmaid lifted it out with a pair of silver tongs and lowered it into the glass, before putting the box away and producing a bottle of the best jenever, the Druadach Reserve. She filled the glass up with it, just enough to cover the heart and leave a finger's worth of liquid above it.

“Cusad y Creena,” Keirine said calmly. “Kissing the Heart. Said to be the original heart of Red Eagle, kept safe after the Hags cut it out of him and gave him one of Briar. Many young Reachmen, and the occasional young woman, have sought to prove their worth by undergoing the rite. Including my brother many years ago as a young man with more bravery than brains.”

Madanach was grinning and nodding as if to say, yes, I definitely did that, and Elisif who had caught up by this point and gone very pale as the smell hit her nostrils, was now looking at her husband as if she never wanted him to kiss her again.

Siddgeir hadn't taken his eyes off the foul-looking drink, looking paler than even Elisif, and he didn't have pregnancy to blame it on. But Siddgeir was a Nord at heart and he had a woman to impress, so he nodded.

“I'll do it,” he whispered.

“Good,” Keirine laughed. “All you have to do is take a swig of the drink, and make sure the heart touches your lips or it doesn't count, got it?”

Siddgeir nodded, screwed his eyes shut and drank, tilting the glass enough for the heart to slide to his mouth... and kept drinking, downing the entire pint without stopping, until nothing was left but the heart. Swaying, Siddgeir slammed the glass on to the bar, wiping his mouth, looking hazily around. 

“Did I pass?” Siddgeir slurred, eyes trying to focus but failing. The Nord contingent were looking impressed, and some had even cheered. The Reach contingent looked nothing short of horrified.

“He drank the whole thing,” Madanach said faintly. “I didn't even drink the whole thing!”

“I washn't shupposed to drink the hull thing?” Siddgeir asked vacantly. Slow shakes of the head from all the Reachfolk.

“You were just meant to drink a mouthful!” Keirine cried, and it was rare for a Hagraven to sound quite that horrified. “Sithis' sake, no one drinks that much neat jenever in one go! It'll melt your insides! Old gods help me, we need to get you to a surgery immediately before your liver completely dissolves, and I don't think the Slan Gwasanaeth here will have what I need. No, there's no help for it, you'll have to come with me to Hag's End. Come on, put your arms around me.”

Siddgeir did so, actually looking hopeful.

“Does thish mean I pashed?” he slurred. “It doesh, doshent it?”

Keirine gestured for space, before gesturing again and opening a portal in front of her.

“You're an idiot,” Keirine growled. “But if you survive... yes, you passed. Now come on.”

Siddgeir clung on to her quite happily as she leapt through the portal, and then both First Matriarch and Jarl of Falkreath were gone.

The excitement over, the crowd started to disperse, all talking excitedly, little Ancalime in particular squealing that he'd kissed the heart, he'd kissed the old heart, that was disgusting! To which her father responded by telling her he was a very silly man, yes, but very young for a human, and young men were very prone to doing silly things, especially if there was a girl they liked around. Ancalime giggled, but her eyes were looking in Aventus's direction.

Delphine returned to her drink, idly watching Cicero skip over to Farkas, congratulating him on his new lover and then sweetly inquiring as to why he, one of Farkas's friends, had known nothing of this or indeed even that _dearest_ Farkas had even had a lady friend. Questions for Kaie and Farkas to answer and given that both had looked a bit panicked then promptly hauled Cicero off for a hushed conversation, Cicero at least was going to be getting the truth out of them both.

Eola sauntered up to her, apparently unconcerned with Cicero interrogating her sister, preferring to snuggle Delphine instead.

“Hey beautiful, how you doing?” Eola murmured, cuddling up to her. “Missed you. We were having shots!”

“So I saw,” Delphine said, grinning as she pulled Eola on to her lap. “I think I'm a little past the age for drinking games.”

“You're never too old to have fun,” Eola murmured, lips moving to hers.

And then things all decided to go to the Void.

“Hey, where'd Keirine go?” Erikur, just back from the privy and having missed all the excitement.

“Oh good, Skyrim's number one lech is back,” Eola sighed. “Are you sure no one's taken out a contract on him?”

“Not yet, but Keirine's considering it,” Delphine said, patting Eola's back and hoping his attention latched on to someone else. Alas, she was to be disappointed.

“Well now, here's a thing. Aren't you the Dragonborn's girl? Didn't know you were into ladies as well, but I'm sure your man would just love to know you've got someone else on the side,” Erikur purred. “But if you let me in on your little tryst, I promise not to tell him.”

“Go to the Void,” Eola growled, her smile fading. “You tell Cicero what you want, he will not believe you. Or he might and then he'll stab you.”

Talos, that was all Delphine needed, Cicero being encouraged to stab people at high society parties. The fact that by Reach standards Cicero was high society himself, didn't make Delphine feel any better.

“I'll take the chance,” Erikur grinned, edging closer. “Or maybe I'll talk to the Thalmor Ambassador instead, tell her how you set Maven and me up at that party at the old Embassy.”

“Maybe Maven'll deny everything and make you look like a liar,” Delphine said, but inside she was starting to panic. What if Erikur did start talking? He didn't know a lot but what he did know could be dangerous.

“I think you're clutching at straws there, Dalviona,” Erikur purred, reaching out. “I think you might want to... reconsider. Madanach's not as powerful as he likes to think.” His hand settled on Delphine's thigh, and Delphine's instincts were to go for her dagger. She'd seen this too often in her innkeeping days to think this was going to end any other way than smacking some sense into the offending male, and never mind the inevitable bounty. Shutting Erikur up was more important.

“I think you're drunk and I think you need to leave,” Delphine growled, slipping off the bar stool and shifting Eola off to one side before standing to face him. 

“I think otherwise,” Erikur growled, and he was just drunk and overconfident enough to not quite realise that Madanach's cousin was more than she seemed. One arm slid out and went round her waist, pulling her to him despite Eola's cries. Then Eola's mage armour flared and a lightning spell sent Erikur flying back into the bar.

Silence. The entire room had gone quiet and even the ones who didn't know that Delphine was a high-ranked Dark Brotherhood assassin knew that she was high up in Madanach's court. Erikur shook himself down, picked himself up and glared at Eola.

“What the fuck was that, you psychotic bitch?” Erikur demanded as he advanced on Eola. Oh good, a fight, that was all they needed.

“All right, that's enough, she's Madanach's daughter, you'll leave her be,” Delphine said, moving to shield Eola and hoping Erikur could be calmed down before things escalated. “Eola, let it go, he's a guest – hey!”

Erikur had grabbed the front of Delphine's Listener armour and hauled her off her feet, his face inches from hers.

“You're coming with me, you little slut – argh!” Delphine's knee had collided with Erikur's groin and the Thane of Solitude staggered back, doubled up in pain. Delphine backed off, eyes seeking help, and various ReachGuard and Companions were advancing, and even Madanach was threading his way through the crowd, having heard the crash. And then a furious whisper echoed through the room as a dagger snicked out of its hilt.

“Filthy _defiler!_ ”

It was a good thing Kodlak was standing right next to his son and still had his reflexes, because otherwise Erikur would have died on the spot. As it was, Cicero was struggling in Kodlak's arms, dagger flashing wildly, lips pulled back in a horrifying rictus, and no one who saw it could doubt that Cicero was a very dangerous man.

“LET ME AT HIM!” Cicero howled. “Let me at the vile _pervert!_ How dare he commit such sacrilege! He must PAY for his crime! _He must pay!_ ”

“I know, and I don't disagree but there's children here,” Kodlak growled, glancing at Ancalime, Aventus and Joric, who'd just emerged from where they'd been playing. Ancalime was already looking up at her father, confused, and Sabrinda was motioning for her husband to take her away. Aslfur was doing the same with Joric. Everyone else was staring in horror, and Eola had fire in her hands although with the amount she'd had to drink and the bar right there, that wasn't going to end well, and the bar staff were already fleeing.

Madanach had also heard everything and was making his way over, grimly determined to find out just what had set Cicero off this time. He got there just in time to see Farkas step forward and grab Erikur's shoulder.

“What set him off – oof!” Erikur had noticed Cicero, puzzled, and then suddenly found himself spun round and punched by Farkas.

Farkas was not gentle and Farkas had been doing this for a living for a long time. One of Erikur's teeth went flying, and the jawbone dislocated as Erikur was sent sprawling to the floor.

“I don't like it when men overstep the mark,” Farkas announced, glaring down at Erikur as he hauled the shocked Thane to his feet. “It's not honourable.” This time the punch went to Erikur's abdomen. “And it's not gonna happen on my watch. We clear on that?”

“How dare you...” Erikur wheezed. “I'mma... I'mma Thane of Solitude! I'll have you – arrrgggh!” Farkas had smashed him into a nearby wooden table, the crash even drowning out Cicero's excited squeals of 'yes! Yes! Hit him harder, Shield-Brother! Make him _bleed!_ '

“Then you should know better,” Farkas growled, pinning him down and preparing to strike again... until someone grabbed his wrist, and this someone was stronger even than Farkas because the Companion couldn't wrest his arm free no matter how he tried. He looked up to see Madanach's son Argis staring down at him, actually smiling.

“I think you got your point across,” Argis said wryly. “But technically, that's assault and battery charges you're looking at.”

“But he started it...” Farkas began and then he fell silent as Madanach arrived, expression unreadable.

“Technically, I believe so,” Madanach said calmly. “But Cicero rarely starts shrieking like that for no reason... and there's only one reason my daughter would cast Destruction magic on one of my party guests who happens to be an older man and notorious womaniser. You know it's the death penalty for laying a hand on a member of the Reach Royal Family, right?”

“What...” Erikur whispered, clearly not having known this one. “But... but I'm a Thane! You can't...!”

“Of Solitude. Not the Reach,” Madanach said, still sounding eerily calm. “Under Reach law, you're just a private citizen, in fact, no, you're not even that. You're an _outsider._ ”

“You can't do this to me,” Erikur breathed, feeling real fear for probably the first time in his life. “Elisif, you're my Jarl, you're High Queen, you married him to stop him killing Nords, help me!”

Elisif moved to her husband's side, a little ungainly but not slowed down much by the pregnancy. “I married him because I wanted a consort my court couldn't suborn or intimidate,” Elisif said, looking absolutely disgusted. “I saw what you did, Erikur. Frankly, I'm ashamed of you. But I don't think it exactly merits a death penalty either. Would a five hundred septim wergild payment be acceptable?”

Elisif looked hopefully at Madanach and Madanach looked back and nodded.

“Fine. If he gets his sorry hide out of my country and doesn't come back. I don't want him at court when I'm in Solitude either. Oh, and one more thing.” Madanach was looking balefully around his Keep at this point, pointed gaze sweeping round them all. “I started the Forsworn Rebellion to end Nord oppression and stop them taking what they wanted, when they wanted, from us. That is what this country is founded on, an end to misery and injustice and people getting away with breaking the law just because of who they are. I will not have Nords perpetuating injustice in my very Keep, on members of _my_ family. Argis, get this sorry excuse for a man to the Slan Gwasanaeth for treatment and then throw him out of my Keep. He's got his own carriage, he can get himself to Solitude on his own.”

“Will do, Da,” Argis said cheerfully, lifting Erikur effortlessly into the air, flinging him over his shoulders and carting him off.

“You can't do this to me! This is a setup!” Erikur shouted, furious at being manhandled. “I'm a Thane! Elisif! Elisif! You're my Jarl, I demand you help me here!”

“I'm very sorry, Erikur,” Elisif said, although she didn't sound terribly regretful. “I'm just the consort here, I don't have any formal authority to override the Reach-King's internal jurisdiction. Oh and Erikur. That's Jarl Elisif to you.”

“What, no, you can't, you... Elisif!” Erikur howled as Argis made off with him. His cries faded away and disappeared as Argis hauled him into the Keep's clinics for the duty healers to look at.

With him gone, Kodlak finally felt it safe to release Cicero, who ignored everyone else and ran straight to Delphine, snuggling in to her and fussing over her, wanting to know if she was all right and how dare the disgusting defiler hurt her, _how dare he!_ Eola was also there, hugging Delphine from the other side while Delphine reassured them both she was fine, she'd suffered worse as an innkeeper and Cicero hissed that that was not the point!

Madanach meanwhile had gestured for some of the ReachGuard to start clearing the wrecked table away, not to mention the broken glass and spilt drinks. 

“Very sorry about that, ladies and gentlemen,” Madanach said apologetically. “It appears some men can't hold their alcohol. Disgraceful, I know, but I'm sure there won't be any further disturbances tonight.”

“Oh don't worry,” Maven said smoothly, sipping her Black Widow. “Erikur's had it coming for years.” This was said to a rousing consensus of agreement from Rikke, Irileth, Brina and both Idgrods, and the men present were wise enough to keep their counsel on that one. Sabrinda raised an eyebrow but said nothing, merely going to find her husband, and slowly the party returned to normal. At least, most of it did. 

Madanach turned round to see Farkas still standing there, looking a bit nervous. Technically guilty of assault and battery, and he was standing there with Kodlak rubbing his back, Vilkas and Ria both hovering nearby and Kaie on his other side, hugging him.

“Do I have to leave as well?” Farkas asked nervously. For a few moments, Madanach said nothing, then he shook his head.

“No, you just saved me the bother of having my own people administer the beating. Also when the story gets out, it looks a lot better for a Companion of Jorrvaskr to have decided a Nord noble was out of line and needed a beating rather than me ordering it. So congratulations, you don't get bountied this time. Just don't make a habit of it. I'm still going to have to charge you for breaking that table though.”

“I'll pay for it,” Kaie said swiftly. “I mean, he did it at least partly for my sake, so it's only right I cover the bill.”

Madanach raised an eyebrow, scrutinising Kaie carefully. “Is that so. Hmm. All right, but I hope he's not going to leave with the impression he can do what he wants and you'll cover for him,” Madanach said carefully.

“No sir,” Farkas said quickly. “I'll be good as gold, promise.”

“Right, right,” Madanach said, eyeing him carefully and then nodding. “All right. I withdraw my earlier objections. You take care of that... condition of yours, and I'll stand back and let you court my Kaie. Only if you marry her, you'll also have to leave the Companions and come and live here, she's not moving to Jorrvaskr. Oh and if you ill-treat her or break her heart or behave in any way towards her that might be considered dishonourable... I'll kill you personally.” Madanach's smile at that point looked just a bit too pleased at that particular prospect. “You have a good evening now.” He nodded his head and left, Elisif on his arm telling him how proud she was of him for doing the right thing and Madanach replying he wasn't sure if she was a good influence or making him soft, to which the High Queen of Skyrim rather cheekily replied that that she usually did the exact opposite to him, which led to Madanach laughing and Kaie and Eola promptly reaching for strong drinks to get that mental image out of their heads.

The party was a little more muted post incident, but people were at least mingling still and talking, and at least the atmosphere hadn't been completely ruined, in fact a few Erikur stories were now circulating that would utterly trash the man's reputation next time he came to a party – if he was on the guest list at all, which was doubtful. Sabrinda was already commenting as to why a noted womaniser was allowed into these things in the first place, and once the Thalmor Ambassador took against you, you were finished.

Kodlak settled down at the bar, next to Delphine with Eola and Cicero cuddling her, all returning to sip at their cocktails while Kodlak just ordered some mead. It wasn't often he got a chance to have Black-Briar Reserve without paying over the odds for it and he was determined to make the most of it.

“Well, that's that crisis over with,” Delphine sighed. “For now, I suppose.” She still didn't like the idea of Erikur linking her to any kind of disturbance at the Thalmor Embassy. Even discredited, he was still dangerous – perhaps more so because he'd been discredited.

“Aye, but I doubt someone like Thane Erikur will let this sort of humiliation go,” Kodlak said, echoing Delphine's own thoughts.

“That is all right, Cicero has no intention of letting this indignity heaped on my Listener go either,” Cicero growled, voice a little muffled from where he was nestled in Delphine's cleavage. Delphine just patted him on the back, smiling.

“That's my boy,” she said, kissing his head, and Eola looked rather pleased at this idea as well. Kodlak wondered if he should perhaps intervene before deciding Erikur had no idea what honour even was and it was probably best to leave him to Cicero before the man went too far with someone else.

Alas for them all, it was already too late to stop that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is when the plot really kicks off! It'll be a while before the Dawnguard aspect really kicks in but you can definitely expect some considerable excitement in Markarth in the near future...
> 
> Lathroniel = (female) Listener. (Male Listener is Lathronion and the gender-neutral version is Lathroniad.)
> 
> Cusad y Creena = Kissing the Heart. Based on a story I heard about this bar somewhere in the wilds of Canada which serves this specialty drink involving a pickled toe in a glass of beer (or possibly vodka). If anywhere in Tamriel has something similar, it's the Reach.
> 
> Yeena = girl
> 
> Slan Gwasanaeth (y Rhan) = (Reach) Health Service. Free healthcare programme for citizens of the Reach as funded by the Mournful Throne. Because Forsworn living on a camp could get healed by the camp healer for free at any time, and Madanach saw no reason for the people of Markarth to miss out.


	5. Fighting for Dominance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erikur's been kicked out of the Keep, but an opponent is most dangerous when he's wounded and Erikur's ability to cause trouble is at its worst when he's roaming Markarth unsupervised. The resulting crisis is going to take all Madanach's capabilities to deal with, not to mention dig up a few secrets from his own past that were best left there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I haven't abandoned this! Only Wolf Queen Awakens ended up taking over my life, but as that's drawing to a close, I felt the urge to write this one again. It's a relatively short chapter but a lot happens.
> 
> Also one of my commenters picked up on something from way back in All Skyrim's Foes which they believed contradicted a future plot development here. Which is very observant of you, well done for remembering but... I hadn't forgotten that line either, and don't worry. I won't be needing to revise anything. :)
> 
> Spoilers for the House of Horrors quest.
> 
> Notes on the Rhanic:
> 
> Bion - boy/lad/son
> 
> Chara - friend
> 
> Admorai agaraic - bloody Nords
> 
> Bachgen - young one

Erikur hated this city. Hated Markarth. Hated everyone in it. Reachmen. Nords. Beguiling women with no idea who they were turning down. And now this. Humiliated in front of everyone, including the damn Thalmor, and what did his own Jarl do?? Nothing. Not a thing. Jarl Elisif, so in thrall to damn Madanach she'd just let him humiliate one of her own Thanes. 

The fact he'd ignored Elisif for most of the evening was lost on him. But he was healed at least and at liberty and while he wasn't allowed back in the Keep, the ReachGuard apparently didn't care about what he did once he'd left it. Well, he could take advantage of that. He could also take advantage of something else, namely the Nord teenager in a skimpy outfit walking past with a tray of drinks, offering them to anyone passing.

“Jenever shots! Get your jenever shots here! Nord and Reachman alike! All courtesy of the Reach-King's generosity!”

Reach-King's generosity, ha. Madanach did what he did to secure his own position, never mind treating his subjects. Madanach was no better than Erikur himself. Honestly, Erikur had been a law-abiding noble and merchant his entire life, whereas Madanach had been a rebel outlaw and prisoner for most of his, and yet Madanach was now a popular and well-beloved ruler who had most of his people singing his praises whereas Erikur had just had his reputation shredded. And honestly even if Erikur told this lot their king had just humiliated him, they'd probably just laugh. Reachmen were like that. No standards, any of them, little better than animals. He'd show them. He'd show them all.

“Give me a drink,” he snarled at the young barmaid, who normally worked for her parents at the Hag's Rest but for tonight was out passing drinks to drunken revellers and getting paid double the usual rate. Hroki didn't mind. The coin was good and her basic pay was up anyway since Madanach took the tavern over and decided her and her brother Hreinn were, as newly come of age adults, now his employees and not their parents' and therefore entitled to a fairer wage. Hroki approved. Her mother didn't, but Hroki liked a lot of things about the takeover. Reachmen didn't start fights when they got drunk, and they didn't take liberties, and the few that did were usually reined in by their mates, or by the ReachGuard security guards that Madanach now had stationed in the inn of an evening. And the singing, she loved the singing! In harmony, and it wasn't all killing Nords and drinking the blood either, there were love songs and songs about the Reach itself, and songs to Dibella, regarded by the Reachfolk as the patron goddess of the Reach, and all told Hroki adored having them around. It was a refreshing change from lecherous Nords who thought a punch-up was the height of an evening's entertainment. 

She could wish for some of them around right now. She'd made the mistake of getting too close to that darkened underpass with the sealed door of the abandoned house that even the Reachfolk shuddered at the mention of. And now this Nord nobleman from the palace had just staggered into view, demanding a drink.

“A – alright, sir, here's a jenever,” Hroki began. The Nord noble snarled and dashed it from her hands. 

“Not that Reach-piss,” he snapped. “Proper booze. Wine or brandy or rum or something drinkable. I'll even settle for mead. Not that Black-Briar rubbish though.”

“I'll need to go back to the inn and find some,” Hroki stammered, backing away. “We've got an outdoor bar by the market square, there's plenty there. We've only got Black Briar Heart and Black-Briar mead though. No Honningbrew, Reach-King doesn't approve of their business practices – let me go!”

Erikur had grabbed her wrist, bloodshot eyes and breath reeking of alcohol inches from her face.

“Listen, you half-educated bitch, I said I want a decent drink! Not this!” He swept the tray from her hands, sending it clattering to the floor, specially treated glass not breaking against the stone but the jenever going everywhere.

“Please, I'm sorry, I'll find you something, only let me go!” Hroki pleaded. Erikur grabbed her shoulders and started to shake her, unaware it had gone very quiet, Reachfolk hearing the sound of an upended tray and feeling personally offended by the thought of all that jenever wasted... and then seeing the cause and getting more so. Hroki might be a Nord but she was one of their Nords, and the Markarth-dwelling Forsworn all liked her.

“Hey. You want to listen to the lady, Nord. Let her go.” That was Brennach, ReachGuard soldier out of Druadach Redoubt, now serving in Markarth's city guard and a regular at the inn.

“Shut up, Reachman, I'm a damn Thane,” Erikur growled. Brennach wasn't sure how to take that, but the silver-haired young woman next to him, Shevawna once of Lost Valley, now one of the First Matriarch's guards down from Deepwood Vale, had no such compunction. Working for Keirine had been quite the political education.

“Thane my arse, Reach-King's guests wouldn't be out here, they're all in the Keep drinking them fancy drinks with the odd names. You're either lying or they kicked you out. Think we know why that might be.”

Quite the crowd had gathered, and then Hroki's twin brother Hreinn shouldered his way through.

“Hey! Get your hands off my sister!”

“Hreinn, you don't need to...” Hroki began, but Erikur had shoved her away and turned on her brother, something in him eager to defend his lost honour. 

“Oh, so she's got kin. A whelp looking to advance himself by taking on his betters,” Erikur growled. “All right then, whelp, you got a fight. Come on!”

“Hreinn, no!” Hroki cried, but her brother had flung the towel on his arm to one side, and rolled his sleeves up, and the Reachman audience were all absolutely loving the prospect of one of their own citizens versus some puffed-up Nord noble.

“Get in there, bion!” Brennach shouted. “He's twice your age and drunk, you can take him!”

“Aim for the throat!” Shevawna called out. “Or kick his shins!”

“Don't worry, chara, we'll pull him off you if he starts winning!” another called out cheerfully. Hroki cried out, darting out of the way as Erikur and Hreinn went for it, and while Erikur was not sober and no longer young, he was bigger than Hreinn and ten times more vicious. Punches flew, wrestling happened, both men were bleeding... and then Erikur shoved Hreinn at the door of the abandoned house that had always been abandoned.

The door that was always locked tight opened and Hreinn staggered back into the darkness, and Erikur pounced, grabbing at his clothes, both men falling to the ground and rolling inside the house.

“Oh no,” Shevawna breathed. “No, you don't want to... _get out of there!_ ”

The door slammed shut, sealing itself once more, and Erikur and Hreinn were on the other side of it.

“Hreinn?” Hroki cried. “Hreinn??” She flew at the door, hammering on it, trying to get it open, but to no avail. It was shut tight.

“Hreinn,” Hroki sobbed. “Hreinn! Hreinn, answer me, open this door, this isn't funny!”

Hroki was only dimly aware of Shevawna pulling her away.

“Hroki, chara, don't, you'll just hurt yourself.”

“But my brother's in there and it won't open,” Hroki cried, tears rolling down her cheeks as she turned to see silver eyes looking sympathetically at her. “Why won't it open??”

The sympathy only increased and Hroki realised this was magic at work, dangerous magic that even the Reachmen feared.

“You can open it, right?” Hroki whispered, clinging to the last shreds of hope. “You know magic, you can unseal it!”

“I only know a bit!” Shevawna whispered. “But... I know someone who knows more. Brennach! Stop gawking and get in the Keep, get the First Matriarch out here. Tell them there's been an incident.”

“Right,” Brennach gasped, haring off for the Keep as fast as his legs would carry him. Slowly, Shevawna led Hroki off to one side even as the duty ReachGuard showed up, took one look at the door and went pale.

“Dagon take us, don't tell me someone went in that house,” one gasped. Shevawna nodded.

“Hreinn from the Hag's Rest and some Nord ponce who got kicked out the Keep,” she told them. “They got in a fight and the door opened – it never opens! I didn't know it could!”

“Nor did we,” the second ReachGuard admitted. “All right, stay calm, we'll handle this. Need those of you who saw what happened to give statements, the rest of you go home. Madros, get backup and send word to the Keep. King's going to want to know about this.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Is he going to be keeping that noise up all night?” Sabrinda asked Madanach wearily. The party had wound down a little after the fight, many people heading off to bed, but Sabrinda had never been the type to leave a party early. All the really interesting gossip got exchanged after the main event. Or at least it would if a certain jester guest of honour would just shut up.

“Afraid so,” Madanach said apologetically. “Probably. I'm sure he'll pass out eventually though.”

“But not after singing this... Cyrodiilic Rhapsody for the fifth time,” Sabrinda sighed.

“MAMAAAAA... JUST KILLED A MAAAAN... PUT A CROSSBOW TO HIS HEAD, PULLED THE TRIGGER NOW HE'S DEAD!” Cicero warbled, with Eola and Ria joining in for this bit, but Cicero's voice stood out and he really did enjoy that bit of the song.

“He's having fun?” Madanach said, hoping the Thalmor Ambassador understood the concept. From the glare on her face, it was clear her idea of fun was definitely not this.

“No one makes this much of a disturbance in the Rift,” Maven said, cheerfully waving her wine glass around. “Perhaps the next big gathering should be in Riften.” Madanach could throttle her sometimes.

“What are you planning to celebrate, Maven? A crackdown on organised crime?” Madanach shot back, feeling a small hit of pleasure at the glare she gave him in return.

“You're one to talk,” Kodlak muttered and Madanach felt his good mood plummet again as Maven looked smug, Delphine looked annoyed and Sabrinda was glancing around the table clearly not getting all the nuances but also simply fascinated by the turn this conversation was taking.

“Is organised crime a problem in your jurisdictions then?” Sabrinda asked, clearly curious and clearly also having read reports of Guild and Brotherhood state protection in the Rift and Reach respectively.

“Not for those two, it isn't,” Kodlak muttered under his breath. Madanach made a mental note to never invite Companions to these affairs again. Too damn honest.

“The Reach has made strides on dealing with attempts to trade Skooma within our borders and we're pleased to report a very low rate of thievery,” Madanach said, teeth gritted.

“The Rift has also been clamping down on the Skooma trade, and you'll be pleased to know our homicide rate is minimal,” Maven added. Madanach nodded gratefully in Maven's direction while Sabrinda's back was turned. There was something to be said for their guilds respecting each other's territory after all.

Kodlak was grimacing at them both, and Madanach had a horrible feeling he was about to say something else impolitic, and then, thank Sithis, Delphine intervened.

“Kodlak, is Cicero all right? He looks... oh goodness, Cicero, it's alright, I'm coming.”

Cicero had stopped singing, clutching forlornly at his drink and staring into space, silent tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Mama...” Cicero whispered, sounding heartbroken. “Cicero misses Mama...”

Delphine was already making her way over, and Kodlak took one look and followed, longer legs getting him to Cicero's side first.

“Lad,” he said firmly, taking an unyielding Cicero into his arms. “Lad, I'm here. It's alright.”

“I miss her, papa!” Cicero wailed, snuggling in his father's arms. Kodlak held him, stroking his hair and patting his back, disapproval forgotten in the midst of a grief they both shared.

“I know, lad,” Kodlak said softly. “I miss her too.”

Delphine had got there by this point, and Eola was on Cicero's other side, and between all of them, it was agreed Cicero was clearly tired and in need of peace and quiet and a good night's sleep. And so Kodlak and Delphine helped Cicero up, let him say his goodbyes to everyone and with Eola following behind, led Cicero off to bed.

“See?” Madanach said cheerfully to Sabrinda. “No more singing. With any luck the rest of them will turn in soon. Ingun looks half asleep already, I think Ria's going, their boyfriends will escort them to bed, which just leaves Kaie and Farkas, and Kaie at least knows how to behave in public... Kaie?”

Kaie had been approached by young Brennach, one of the Markarth guardsmen, who was whispering urgently in her ear. Kaie's expression had turned to one of alarm, and she'd apologised to the others before retreating with Brennach to have a more private conversation.

“Is there some sort of problem?” Sabrinda asked, perfectly plucked eyebrow raised, and Maven was also leaning in, curious. Gods help him, these two were the absolute last people he wanted to show any sort of vulnerability to.

“Problem?” Madanach laughed. “Oh, I doubt it, well, probably not a serious one anyway. Some kind of punch-up perhaps, but these things will happen. Listen, I've kept you ladies up long enough, it's getting on for midnight, I think I may have to take my leave, check on my city, that sort of thing. You're quite welcome to stay up late if you wish, or even join that lot if you like.”

Maven and Sabrinda, the sole noble party guests remaining, took one look at the only other table, with Argis already escorting Ingun off to bed, leaving only two Nord mercenaries and an Imperial warrior, and both shivered at the mere thought.

“I really should see how Meryndor's doing,” Sabrinda said, at the same time as Maven decided she should definitely say goodnight to Ingun and then seek her own bed, and Madanach left them to it, privately relieved to see them both out of the way. Easily his most dangerous guests, and if there was a problem, Madanach wanted it well out of sight of the pair of them. And if someone who wasn't even on duty tonight was interrupting Reach-Princess Kaie at a private function, there was a problem.

“What's up?” Madanach said quietly, making his way over, and really not liking the terror in Brennach's eyes. Something was seriously not right.

“Reach-King! Er, I mean, sir, I mean, um, is the First Matriarch here still?”

“No, she had to deal with a medical emergency, we won't have her back until tomorrow if at all – what's the problem?” That they were specifically requesting Keirine's aid was very worrying indeed. Blatant insubordination? Less frightened of his sister than him (a ridiculous idea in Madanach's mind but some people still held it)? Or... Madanach wasn't sure he wanted to know, but as King, he didn't have that option.

“It's the door, Da,” Kaie said softly. “It... opened! And someone got inside, two Nords having a fight.”

Madanach could feel his heart sink. Nords having a fist-fight and now they might just have ruined his city. Too much to hope they were out of towners and this could be hushed up?

“Admorai agaraic,” Madanach cursed to himself. “Who were they?”

“Hreinn from the Hag's Rest,” Brennach admitted, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but here. “And... um... we're not sure who the other one was, he wasn't from round here. Older man. Dark blonde hair. Dressed fancy. Said he was some sort of noble, Thane was it?”

“Thane Erikur,” Madanach sighed, closing his eyes and realising this couldn't have got much worse. His wife's Thane. Which meant Elisif would need to be told and he honestly couldn't imagine her reaction to this. Disgraced the Thane of Solitude might be, but Erikur had just disappeared in suspicious circumstances in his city and he'd be held responsible. Not to mention one of his own people along with him and that hurt the most. Erikur's death he could live with. Hreinn was just a boy, and one who worked for him at that.

“Da?” Kaie was saying, hand on his arm. “What do we do? The ReachGuard are taking statements and cordoning the area off but we need...”

“I know we need to do something!” Madanach snapped, before feeling contrite at the sudden stab of fear in Kaie's eyes. “Look, I... Kaie, this is going to need Matriarchs. Keirine's fucked off to save Siddgeir, Sithis knows why, which just leaves Del. Go and find her. Now. Tell her I need – Sithis, just tell her something urgent's come up. Brennach, go find the duty palace guard, get me an escort – actually, never mind. Argis, weren't you seeing to Ingun?”

“She's in bed, face down, bucket alongside the bed, guards on the door,” Argis said, shrugging. “She'll be fine. You now, you I'm not so sure about. What's up?”

Madanach couldn't quite get used to the feeling of being connected to a Briarheart warrior. Most of the time he barely noticed it, and both were fairly good at knowing when not to interrupt the other. But at times of distress, keeping his feelings from Argis was that bit harder, especially if Elisif wasn't around, and his son had clearly guessed and responded.

“Trouble,” was all Madanach wanted to say out loud. “Get yourself some weapons and let's go.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn't hard to work out where the trouble was. The city had gone eerily quiet and what seemed like half the population was gathered around the abandoned house that had always been abandoned or so Madanach preferred everyone to think. 

In reality, well. That place had been sealed for years, unopenable by anyone since the Nords took Markarth back. Madanach had decided to leave the place as it was on resuming power. If no one could get in or out, best to leave it. Except now the house had decided the time was right to wake.

Silence fell as he approached, Reachfolk, Nords and others alike all falling back as they saw him coming. Silence... apart from the girl sobbing in front of the door, being held back by a young Reachwoman who Madanach recognised from his sister's entourage, Shevawna was it?

The duty ReachGuard had managed to set up a cordon, trying to encourage the onlookers to go home, without a lot of success. One of them was having a heated discussion with Frabbi who was demanding to know where her son was.

“Now look here, I want a full explanation – my son is in that house and nobody will tell me what's going on or why they can't just go in there and drag him out, and who is this other man anyway?”

“Ma'am, we're doing everything we can, I promise you...” the guard began, then falling back with relief as he saw his king approaching. 

“Frabbi. Kleppr. I heard what happened,” Madanach said, hoping he looked sympathetic enough. “I promise you, I'll do everything in my power to get your son out of there.”

“Can't you just blast the door down??” Frabbi snapped. “I've heard about your magic! Seen you use it during the siege! And the uprising. Why can't you and the entire ReachGuard get a simple door down?? Why is my son in there anyway?”

“Frabbi,” Kleppr murmured, coming to stand behind her. “Perhaps we shouldn't annoy our king and employer, hmm?”

Frabbi shot Kleppr a venomous look, and Madanach couldn't help but smile.

“Don't worry, I know she's just worried. Let me get some eyewitness accounts and a look at that door – Hroki saw everything, right?” No other reason for her to be on the other side of the cordon than that she saw the whole thing and was refusing to leave the door.

The guards let him pass, relief and a sad, desperate hope in all their eyes and Madanach wondered why he'd volunteered for this job in the first place. All these people, all looking at him, all hoping he could make it better, fix this somehow. He was the all-powerful Witch-King, right? He knew all sorts of dark secrets!

Yes. Yes, he did. That made it worse.

“Hroki,” he said, as gently as he could manage. “Hroki, what happened, bachgen?”

Hroki gasped and looked up, tears rolling down her face and fear and that same desperate hope as she saw her king looking down at her. Madanach knelt by her side, hoping that would intimidate the poor girl a little less. It didn't entirely work, but she did look somewhat less fearful.

“He – there was a fight... but it wasn't his fault, sir! He was trying to protect me!” Hroki gasped. “Sir, please don't punish him, I know the other man was a Thane but he was hassling me, Hreinn was just trying to get him to stop!”

“It's true, sir,” Shevawna was saying. “That Admorin fetcher was getting nasty towards Hroki when she didn't have any drinks he wanted – upended a tray of jenever in the process, I might add – and Hreinn took exception. And that's when the fight broke out. Um. Sorry, sir.”

Madanach could feel something in him starting to react, some primal sense of rage and fury, about some Nord noble in _his city_ , thinking he could throw his weight around with _Madanach's_ people, and there'd be no consequences. Well, there'd been consequences all right, albeit not the ones Erikur had been expecting. Madanach lifted his head and looked up at the door.

“I take it that's when the door opened, right?” he sighed. Both women nodded.

“It just flew open and Hreinn fell in, and the Thane went for him and they both fell inside... and then it slammed shut! On its own!” Hroki cried. “And my brother's inside and no one can get it open and all the Reachfolk look like my brother's just died and no one will tell me what's going on or why and...!” Hroki stopped, gasping for breath and wiping the tears away before finally looking up at him, bloodshot and puffy eyes meeting his. “Please, sir. Please, Your Grace. He's not just my brother, he's my twin, we're close, we... please help me get him back. Please tell me what's going on.”

Madanach closed his eyes, trying not to think of another brother-sister pair of twins many decades ago, separated and suffering thanks to the arrogance of Nord nobility taking what they wanted. Even if that had been purely human malice. This was something else, but he owed it to Hroki and Hreinn to try. 

“There are stories about that house,” Madanach said quietly. “Dark ones. Ones I am not about to tell here. Hroki, I don't know if your brother is still alive... but he might be. Don't give up hope. But we do need to get that door open. Shevawna – it is Shevawna, right? Can you take Hroki back to her parents? I am going to need everyone to stand back.”

It was amazing what the prospect of their king attempting dangerous and experimental magic did to people. The entire crowd spontaneously moved about ten feet back, and yet somehow managed to position themselves with a good view of the door. Most of them had witnessed the uprising in which Madanach had retaken Markarth, most had been there for the siege as well. They'd all seen him in action, be it with flashy Destruction spells or cleverly crafted Illusion spells that had had Stormcloak besiegers convinced monsters had risen up from the ground behind them, leading them to attack their own side and buy Markarth some respite.

Of course, Illusion spells didn't work on inanimate objects, which just left the fireballs. And the ice storms. And one particularly effective stone-wrecking technique that Madanach had used to good effect in Cidhna Mine, involving alternately freezing stone then blasting it with fire. Time to see if it'd work here.

Madanach stepped back and unleashed ice, coating the entire door with intense frost magic and then a second coat for good measure, before pausing to allow his magicka to recover. _Maybe I should have asked Argis if he'd let me borrow his... oh!_ Argis had heard him down the Briar bond, planted both hands on his shoulders, and was channelling his own magicka into Madanach, and while Argis's magicka pool was relatively small, the Briar Heart let him keep sucking magicka in to replace it as fast as Madanach drew it out. Which allowed Madanach to touch up the ice a bit, then switch elements and fling fire at the door.

The resulting explosion was very impressive, and fortunately the ReachGuard cordon had seen this coming and flung wards up in time to protect all the bystanders, and Madanach was immune to his own magic. Argis took a shrapnel wound to the cheek but protested it was nothing even as Madanach was forced to seal it shut with a necromantic healing spell.

The door however remained firmly sealed. Damn.

“Did you wanna give it another go?” Argis said hopefully. “Or try focusing on the lock?”

“There is no lock,” Madanach snapped. “There's no handle. There's no way past this blasted...” He pulled himself together. Wouldn't do for his citizens to lose faith in him. Besides, there was one way past, wasn't there?

_No. I can't do it, I won't, I swore myself to Dibella not a month ago in preparation for the wedding and as a declaration of peace, even declared her the Reach's official patron goddess. I'm not forsaking her now just to..._

Save an innocent young man. Except it might already be too late. But he'd promised Hroki he'd try. And it wasn't difficult, was it? Just slice his palm open, place it on the door, swear the forbidden oath. _I bend to you, I pledge my soul to you, I forsake all other deities and swear myself to you, Lord of Domination, let your humble servant enter in to your presence._

He'd never done it himself, but he'd seen it done. He'd never sworn a binding oath of service but he'd bent the knee before now. He was hardly untouched by Molag Bal's hand. Someone would have to and who else was left? Not many these days, the Nords had claimed the lives of most of the Reach's secret Molag Bal cult. And he couldn't ask this of anyone else.

Closing his eyes and trying not to think of Elisif's beautiful face, his child in her belly, source of light in his life and partly the reason he'd become something of a Dibella devotee in his old age, he opened his palm and drew the little prison shiv he still always carried. A reminder of what his life had been and could be again if he wasn't careful.

_I guess some of us aren't meant for light and love and happiness. I'm so sorry, Elisif. Lady Dibella, please forgive me._

The shiv point had just started to dig into his palm when the door swung open.

Madanach had never been quite so relieved in his life as he lowered his hands, but the relief was short-lived. Hreinn was kneeling there in semi-darkness, head bowed, hands covered in blood and he was holding... dear gods. Hreinn was cradling what was left of Erikur's head in his arms, his face having been bashed in with a mace, probably the steel one by Hreinn's side covered in blood and skull and hair and brain and... Madanach cast a cursory Detect Life spell, but honestly he didn't really need it to tell that Erikur was no longer in the land of the living. And thanks to the entire watching crowd, there was no way of hushing this up or making it look like an accident.

Hreinn slowly lifted his face, tears trickling down his cheeks, and bruises and cuts marring his own face, mottled fingerprints visible on his neck. A one-sided fight it clearly hadn't been, which was something at least. 

“I'm sorry,” Hreinn whispered. “I didn't have a choice, he made me...!” He stopped talking, choking on the words, clearly distressed beyond speech by this point.

“Hreinn!” Hroki cried. “Gods, what happened?”

Madanach's brain had no sooner started formulating orders before Argis obeyed, striding forward and hauling Hreinn to his feet with one hand and picking up Erikur's corpse with the other, hauling both out of the house and letting Erikur fall to the ground.

“I didn't mean to!” Hreinn sobbed. Madanach closed his eyes, believing the boy but also knowing that the death of a foreign noble was going to cause trouble, not least with his own wife. At least the boy was a Nord, that was something.

“Argis, get him to a healer, tell them I want full documentation of every injury, then have him read his rights and taken to the cells. I'll be along shortly, or Kaie will be, to take his statement once the healers are done. And take this to the Hall of the Dead for autopsy.” He kicked Erikur's corpse, vehemently wishing he'd listened to his gut and never invited the man in the first place.

“What about the house, sir?” Shevawna was asking. “We can't just leave it.”

The door had closed behind Argis and absolutely no one was going back in there without a Matriarch at their back, Madanach was sure of that. All the same, he wasn't taking chances.

“I want two guards on that door at all times,” he snapped at the nearest duty guardsman. “No one allowed in under any circumstances whatsoever without my explicit authorisation or the First Matriarch's when I finally get hold of her. And if anything comes out... kill it.”

“Will do, sir,” the guard said, saluting and ordering two others into post before starting to disperse the crowd. Most went quite willingly... but Hroki and her parents were still watching him in shock, Hroki now sobbing in her father's arms.

“What about our boy?” Frabbi cried. “Will he be all right? What are you going to do with him?”

“He just bludgeoned a Thane of Solitude to death from the look of it, I can't just ignore it!” Madanach sighed. “You know I'm married to the dead man's Jarl, right?”

“Of course I know, your steward said you did it to prove to the Reach's Nords you weren't all bad!” Kleppr snapped. “So prove it to us, Madanach! My boy is not a murderer, and everyone saw this Thane start the fight!”

“I believe you,” Madanach said softly. “But I need to investigate before I can let your son go. And Elisif will need to be told and I don't know how she'll react. As my wife, she'll always listen to me. As Jarl of Solitude, she can be extremely stubborn.”

 _And let's not forget Molag Bal's involvement, oh gods, the shrine is active again, it'll want feeding, won't it?_ He'd managed to find criminals, ne'er-do-wells, bandits, fat Nord noblemen to sate it last time, and with the eyes of the world elsewhere, he'd got away with it. Now he'd dedicated the kingdom to Dibella and the eyes of the Empire were firmly on him, and his wife this time would not come to watch sacrifices with an unholy gleam in her eye before hauling him off to bed and rutting with him until neither could walk properly. No, she would run screaming in horror and Madanach didn't blame her. He wasn't the same man he'd been thirty years ago either.

Delphine. He needed Delphine. If anyone could help him, she could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that would be the plot kicking off. Next up, we've got Madanach confessing all to Delphine, Elisif wanting to know just why one of her Thanes is lying battered to death in the Hall of the Dead, and the Dark Brotherhood dealing with Daedra once more.


	6. Coldharbour's Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molag Bal's returning to Markarth and the Reach is right to be worried. Particularly if you're the King who remembers things from last time and whose own history and rise to power is intimately entwined with the Lord of Domination. Delphine can help but needs details, and with a Thane of Solitude dead and her husband's soul in the balance, Solitude's Jarl can't help but get involved too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update! It's ready so up it goes. This one is a bit sordid, be warned. It's basically Madanach's past as a one-time Molag Bal worshipper, and him having to fess up about it all to first Delphine, and then Elisif. And it turns out Madanach is a bisexual SM-er who used to sacrifice criminals to Molag Bal.

Kaie was the first person to meet him in the Keep – no words but a silent hug and a whisper from Madanach they'd got the door open, but, well... Argis was in the Hall of the Dead, she should talk to him. Kaie didn't need telling anything more, sprinting off to find her brother.

And that just left Delphine, frowning at him, and if she'd heard even half of what was going on... Madanach wasn't looking forward to this one.

“Delphine, thank the gods, what did Kaie tell you?”

“That some emergency had come up that couldn't wait until morning and you needed me now now now,” Delphine said, rather scathingly. “I hope this is important, Madanach, I was in the middle of putting Cicero to bed. The poor man was feeling very fragile and emotional, you just be glad Eola and his father are there to keep an eye on him. Now is this some sort of job?”

“Yes,” Madanach admitted. “No. Sort of. Look, you managed to get one Daedric Prince exiled from Oblivion entirely and swatted another on the nose in his own realm. Something's come up and you're the only one I can think of who might be able to help.”

Delphine stopped, eyebrow raised, still in her flowing blue sparkly party dress but no less dangerous for that – Madanach knew she had daggers hiding somewhere, probably poisoned ones at that. But he had her attention and that usually meant good things – for him anyway.

“Let's go talk this over in your study, shall we?” Delphine said smoothly. Madanach breathed a sigh of relief and offered his arm, leading the Listener away for a much-needed discussion.

Delphine slipped into a chair as they entered his study, the heads on the wall and the Daedric shrine in the corner not fazing her at all. Madanach glanced at the tea set before deciding this had gone well beyond tea and reached for the jenever decanter instead. Two shots later and he and Delphine were sitting across the table from each other, Madanach wondering how on earth to broach any of this. Delphine had no such compunctions.

“Well, you called me in here urgently, so I presume this is business, and you mentioned Mora and Mephala so I presume this is going to be unconventional,” Delphine sighed. “Which Daedra is it this time? And bear in mind some of them we think actually back us.”

Madanach finished his jenever off and lowered his hands to the table, studiously not meeting Delphine's eyes.

“Lord Molag Bal,” Madanach said quietly, uttering the name out loud for the first time in years. Delphine let go of her own glass and fell backwards into the chair, feeling the blood drain from her cheeks.

“Lord... Molag... Talos, Madanach, you want a contract on _Molag Bal??_ ” Delphine wasn't even sure where to start. Or how to even begin pricing that one. She was fairly sure even Madanach did not have the coin to pay for a hit on the Hated One.

“No!” Madanach protested. “I mean, I don't want him assassinated, I just need... Delphine, a young Nord in my city just bludgeoned Thane Erikur to death, and I can't just let him go free but he doesn't deserve prison either!”

Almost certainly not, and the only thing that bothered Delphine about Erikur being dead was that no one had taken a contract out on him first.

“I'm guessing a cover-up's out of the question,” Delphine sighed. “Of course it is, or you'd be out there covering up. What happened, what do you need and where does Molag Bal fit in to all this?”

“I used to worship him,” Madanach said quietly and whatever Delphine had been expecting, it wasn't that.

“You used to... what?” Delphine said, scratching her head and trying to get her head round this – Madanach just didn't seem the type... until you thought about it. Hardline to the point of fanatical in his youth, the fact even she had never been able to get a definitive list of the Reach's old gods off him, known worshipper of at least some Daedra, known to be a skilled politician and capable of ruthlessly making and carrying through hard decisions when necessary – putting down the Lost Valley revolt for one, but even that hadn't been the massacre people claimed. Madanach had given speeches to his assembled loyal ReachGuard on the need for a united Reach or their enemies would crush them, even invited the rebels to discuss their issues with him and meet for talks at Karthspire. They'd responded by trying to sack Old Hroldan, and would have succeeded had Old Hroldan Inn not been the Dark Brotherhood's local tavern, with Eola, Cicero, Aranea and Sapphire all having a little drinking session in there, as were more than a few off-duty Karthspire warriors. Cicero had called Odahviing for aid, Odahviing had answered, everyone had piled in on the rebels and the settlement had survived. Then and only then had Madanach reacted by mustering the rest of the ReachGuard, the other camps universally backing him, particularly after it became known that the rebels had been foolish enough to attack the Brotherhood's local and all the camp leaders, regardless of their personal feelings, felt an urgent need to abandon the rebels, back their king and ensure that justice was done so that the Brotherhood didn't feel the need to start claiming it themselves. Delphine really was rather fond of Reachmen sometimes. 

But the story told outside the Reach was not of Madanach the politician, skilfully cajoling other Forsworn leaders into backing him, but of Madanach the warlord reacting to a rebellion with a brutal and swift putdown, a story Madanach cheerfully encouraged, just as stories of his rise to power as king all had him down as sweeping all before him, with fire and the sword if necessary, despite Delphine hearing from Keirine that fire and death only happened twice during the entire process, takeovers of other tribes had always been preceded by a publicity campaign on the theme of Nord injustice and insinuations that if Reachmen were really free, why did the Nords have the capital and all the money? Even if the chiefs didn't agree, the people were often swayed and with Keirine working the Hags, chiefs eventually were either deposed by their own people and replaced by a Madanach supporter or accepted the inevitable and swore loyalty. It had not been a bloodbath by any stretch, in fact it had been remarkably peaceful by Reachman standards, and yet the story seemed to be one of Madanach claiming power by any means necessary. Why?

Because Madanach liked the idea. And why did he like the idea? Because he liked looking powerful, because looking powerful made him more likely to keep being powerful and he liked being powerful because... Former Molag Bal worshipper and probably the only reason he still wasn't one was either because he'd got what he wanted power-wise or Elisif. Perhaps both.

“Molag Bal. And you.”

“Yes,” Madanach sighed. “Me and Mireen both, in fact she was more of a devotee than I was. I told you that woman was a sadist. Well, I didn't tell you the half of it, she loved watching sacrifices, loved inflicting pain, far more so than I did. Not that me following Molag Bal was her idea, I might add. There was a Molag Bal cult in the Reach when I first joined the tribes and I joined before ever getting involved with Mireen.”

“He's one of the old gods – but Madanach, how does that even work??” Delphine cried. “I thought the Reachmen were all about free love and sexual consent and ruling justly?”

“We are!” Madanach cried. “With each other! Molag Bal's our war god. Because unlike the Nords, we don't romanticise war. It's not a ticket to a glorious afterlife, it's not a primrose path to heroism! It's bloody, brutal, painful, people die, suffer, starve, get disfigured, abused – it's generally horrible and so we put the god of slavery, torture, domination and rape in charge of it because when you go to war, _that's what usually happens!_ That's why Molag Bal's one of our gods, it's an eternal reminder that when we go to war, no one wins but the crows. Which does, I admit, keep Namira happy, but even her belly gets full eventually.”

Delphine wasn't even touching Namira worship, not least because then her own knowledge of Namira worship in the Reach might come under the spotlight, and she had a feeling it outstripped Madanach's.

“Which makes sense, but that doesn't explain why you were worshipping him,” Delphine said pointedly. “If you were involved in the cult before you even got married – Madanach, you told me you didn't start building the Forsworn until your oldest daughter Eithne was born, so you surely weren't seeking Molag Bal's favour in battle.”

A pause from Madanach, head bowed and features in shadow, and then he looked up, silver eyes hard and merciless.

“By age fifteen, I'd seen my father killed, my sister abducted and abused for nearly a year by one of the Silver-Bloods while the Nord rulers did nothing, and those were just the big things. Then there were all the little injustices, the guards shoving me around, Orc overseers coming down hard on us at the smelters because the Nords wanted their silver, my father having to teach me once I turned twelve how to react to Nord guards, to always be super-polite and respectful, keep my head down, don't fight back, just survive and come home. I got away with Keirine in the end but I never forgot. And in the Reachman tribes, no one really seemed to care what was going on in Markarth. They were the free Reachfolk, the true Reachfolk, and the city Reachfolk were just after a soft life. A soft life!” Madanach laughed harshly.

Delphine said nothing, just reaching a hand across to gently touch his, because even if she'd not really been on the sharp end of racial prejudice, she'd seen what the Thalmor got up to in Valenwood, and she could hardly blame Madanach for doing whatever he had to in order to fight back. 

Madanach had taken her hand and squeezed it, not really acknowledging her directly but clearly glad she was there. 

“So I joined the Molag Bal cult,” Madanach said quietly. “It wasn't what you think, we weren't bullies and rapists. We were all about consensual domination, and it was mostly same-sex – the men dominated other men, women dominated women, although there was cross-gender socialising and there'd always be men looking for women to top them and vice versa. Basically you were brought in via an initiation rite which largely involved seeing how much pain and humiliation you could take – Delphine, stop that.”

“Sorry,” Delphine said, trying to force her face into some semblance of neutrality and definitely not grin, definitely not that. “How long did yours go on for?”

That did get a sly smile out of him. 

“Hours,” Madanach purred, sounding very pleased with himself over that. “But I was stubborn. And hard to break. And somewhat on the masochistic side, it turns out. But that's neither here nor there. Point is, after you've survived that, you're apprenticed to a master. And I mean master quite literally, you have to obey them in everything, you're punished for infractions, you live with them, serve them, take care of their every need, including sexual ones. Doesn't matter if you are even attracted to him or men in general. You have to please him in everything. Oh, there's limits on what he can do to you. He can't kill or maim, and masters who do cross the line will get disciplined in turn by the cult leaders. But at the start you're branded – magically and it's removable, but it's always there and you can feel it, and he can make you feel pleasure or pain through it. A reminder you're enslaved now. And that lasts until your master thinks you're ready.”

“Ready for what?” Delphine had to ask. “And honestly, Madanach, I just can't see you putting up with this.”

“I didn't,” Madanach admitted. “I was a terrible apprentice, it took the best part of a year for him to get me properly under control, and in the end it wasn't the punishments. It was the way he'd look so disappointed afterwards, as if he knew I was better than this, capable of so much more... Delphine, I'd just lost my father, I wasn't remotely over it, and here was this older male figure demanding a lot, but offering it too, offering affection and taking care of me, and damn it, I couldn't help myself. I ended up falling for the son of a bitch, and I turned from a dominant's worst nightmare into the perfect submissive. Hard to believe, I know.”

“Extremely,” Delphine couldn't help but agree, although it made a lot more sense of certain rumours regarding recent-ish developments in Madanach's marriage. “What happened? You had to leave and get married eventually.”

“I didn't want to,” Madanach said quietly. “He thought I was ready. I didn't want to go. It wasn't even a matter of him wanting other apprentices – he'd taken on a few once I was under control. Just two, and to compensate, he'd let me help top them. I was still in service, but in command over the other two. Which I found myself liking a great deal. You look rather less surprised at this prospect.”

Delphine grinned, able to see this perhaps a bit too clearly. “You being involved in a gay sado-masochism cult was the shock. You getting power and loving it is not even a surprise.”

Madanach smirked and looked away. “Part of the training, Del. You learnt to wield power under your master's supervision so he could deal with and correct any problems before you got let loose with anything important. Only when he was convinced I wasn't going to be an issue was I finally allowed to graduate, get apprentices of my own.”

“Lucky you,” Delphine remarked and Madanach did bristle at that.

“Not lucky me, I felt rejected and heartbroken! I wasn't ready at all! I ended up leaving the Reach entirely, travelling to Cyrodiil, following tales of the Lucky Old Lady and the Dark Brotherhood, drawn to Sithis because I was lonely and heartbroken and desperate and wanted it all to stop. I got all the way to Bravil, and the Night Mother never spoke to me, your brothers and sisters didn't even try to talk to me. I guess I wasn't what she was after. But along the way, I saw the world, opened my eyes, saw a whole world outside the Reach and realised the Nords weren't all-powerful either, they owed allegiance to a greater Empire. And while I was in the Imperial City, I ended up boarding with this ex-Legion woman. She was a single mother, running a shop, I helped her look after it and babysat her son. And she had books, books on strategy and combat, Legion manuals, historical accounts, all sorts. I read them all, asked her questions, staged mock battles on her dining table with her condiments which her baby boy loved but she was a bit less sure about. Didn't stop her joining in and correcting my tactical errors though. It was like a master-class in strategy, Delphine. I learnt all sorts, and that's when I realised the Reachmen needed this. They needed to unite and become an army, and I was the only one who knew how to build one. So I stayed longer than I needed to, saved up my coin, bought half her library off her and eventually returned to the Reach. Where I rejoined the cult, happily took on apprentices of my own, taught them how to lead and told them of Nord injustices, swayed them to my cause, and when they returned to their own tribes, ready to take on apprentices of their own, I had my support network all ready to go. I got to know Mireen better through hanging out with the women's cultists, helped her with some of her apprentices, she helped break a few of mine who'd been getting out of line and we ended up getting married. I took over Karthspire with her after her father and brother died, we started uniting the tribes under our banner, and the cult were rather proud of us and lent their resources to our aid. I don't think I'd ever have taken the Reach the first time without them.”

Silence as Delphine digested this, realising his bargain with her wasn't the first time he'd sought the aid of dark forces in his long history of fighting. From the sound of it, transferring his allegiance to Sithis might even be a sign of reformation.

“What happened to the cult?” she whispered. “Is it still active?”

“No,” Madanach said quietly. “The war with the Nords has changed us forever. Previously stable settlements were uprooted or destroyed, so many young men and women died fighting, the population changed so much that the cult fell apart. I think there might be individual cells and practitioners out there, but there's no unified organisation any more. I may have been a member but I was never part of its priesthood. I never swore my soul to Molag Bal, just loyalty and conditional loyalty at that. Loyalty in return for power, and where the fuck was he when Ulfric stormed my city, hmm? Nowhere to be found, and so I turned away. Mireen stayed loyal, I think, but she's gone. Me, I was left high and dry in Cidhna Mine, and when I finally got out and reclaimed my throne, who helped, hmm? Sithis and the Night Mother. So no, I've no real loyalty to him now. Only I'm not sure he's entirely agreed on that point.”

“Why do I have a feeling this is where I come in,” Delphine sighed, seeing all too clearly where this was going. “I really do hope you never did swear a binding oath to him, the Night Mother will not intervene if you've voluntarily sworn yourself to a Daedra and regret it.”

“I've sworn no oath as king to him,” Madanach said, but he still looked sombre. “But he has a shrine here in Markarth, Delphine. The cult's other centres of worship were smashed by the Nords, but the Markarth shrine survived. We used to use it when I was king the first time. Used to sacrifice condemned criminals. And occasionally cultists – apprentices who wouldn't submit or learn and who were regarded as beyond hope, masters who repeatedly went too far, that sort of thing. The shrine's in the cellar of this abandoned house in Markarth. We spread rumours of ancient Reachman curses to keep people away, snuck in ourselves with illusions to hide us, let people believe rites were performed there to keep the city safe. And for two years it worked. Then the Nords came back, I had to flee the city, hundreds died both then and in the aftermath... and the house sealed itself up. No one could get in no matter how hard anyone tried. It just locked itself and went dormant. For years, it wasn't my problem, but then I was king again, and Keirine and Nepos and I tried to get it open. Nothing happened. So we decided it was best to leave it, and encouraged the ReachGuard to dissuade people from going near the house. The house is abandoned and it's always been abandoned, and that's the way we wanted to keep it.”

Delphine had seen the doorway before now. She'd even asked around, wondering if it might make good office space for the Brotherhood. But none of the Forsworn or the Markarth locals had wanted to talk about it, and even Eola had told her to just let it lie. Not that Eola knew a lot about Molag Bal personally, but she'd told Delphine there was a dark aura over that house, best to let it be.

It looked like letting it be wasn't an option any more.

“So you're telling me there's a sealed and dormant shrine to Molag Bal in this city, which you used to sacrifice people to when you were king before... oh gods, it's not inactive any more, is it?” 

Madanach slowly shook his head, regret all over his face and stark, staring terror in his eyes.

“Erikur got in a fight with Hreinn from the Hag's Rest – Erikur was hassling Hreinn's sister Hroki,” Madanach said wearily. “It was right outside the door. A fight between old and young for dominance, right near the house – Molag Bal loves that sort of thing. The door opened, they fell in, the door sealed behind them, no one could get to them, and when it finally did let them out, there's Hreinn in a state of shock, beaten and bloody but looking better than Erikur who'd just had his skull bashed in. And now you know why I need help.”

“I'll say,” Delphine whispered, mind processing all the ramifications, and while Madanach was quite capable of handling this sort of thing if it had been a fight between two nobodies, the dead man was Thane of Solitude, which meant he'd have to tell Elisif... gods, Elisif. She'd screamed and fled over Argis becoming a Briarheart. What she'd do at the prospect of Molag Bal worship was anyone's guess.

“Elisif will want an accounting of what happened,” Madanach was saying, his voice a flat monotone of dread and despair. “She will know if I am lying to her – she could always tell anyway, and now we've got the Bond linking us and it's new too, new Bonds are hard to tamper with! If I pass it off as a fight that got out of hand and nothing more, she'll want to know why I'm not taking it more seriously. Her people will want to know why a Thane can be bludgeoned to death in my city and the perpetrator gets away with it. But if I tell her about the Molag Bal worship... she'll leave me, Delphine. She'll take my child with her, I will never see her or the baby again, Delphine, please!”

He was staring desperately at her, a man at his wit's end and Delphine wanted to help, she really did, but this was a little beyond even her.

“What do you need me to do?” Delphine asked softly. She was out of ideas, but she refused to believe Madanach had none.

“I think I can manage this one incident,” Madanach breathed, finally seeming to get himself under control. “Erikur's already in disfavour, and I've got dozens of witnesses all swearing he was hassling Hroki and her brother came to her defence. I've got my healers documenting Hreinn's injuries and analysing Erikur's, and I am fairly certain the evidence will point to Erikur trying to throttle Hreinn, and Hreinn having no option but to respond by grabbing a nearby mace and hitting him to get him to stop. Officially, we'll claim it was self-defence after Erikur started using lethal force – the door was jammed but the force of Erikur hurling Hreinn into it got it open. Of course, Erikur kicked it shut behind him and jammed it again, but I was able to get it open with magic and retrieve them both but not in time to prevent a tragedy. There'll be an official apology from the Mournful Throne to the Blue Palace, a generous weregild payment to Erikur's kin from me, and some form of short-term community service for Hreinn. Maybe I'll send him to Deepwood Vale, have him give Braig a hand at the Flaming Spriggan or something. I daresay Elisif won't be terribly happy, but on the other hand she never liked him so I don't suppose she'll hold it against me for long.”

“But,” Delphine said, acutely aware more was coming.

“But that shrine is active again, and it's made it abundantly fucking obvious that if I don't start offering regular sacrifices again, it'll start taking them on its own, and next time it might not be someone as universally despised as Erikur was,” Madanach growled. “Delphine, I can't have a fucking Daedric shrine in my city luring sacrificial victims in, and I can't start the sacrifices up again, I just can't. Elisif will know, she won't just turn a blind eye to me slipping out at night, and even if I get Argis or Kaie to actually do the sacrifices, she'll know how I'm feeling and keep prying.”

“You want me to find victims for you?” Delphine asked, mentally reviewing her ledgers and while finding victims and disappearing a few wasn't hard, bringing them into the city on a regular basis for sacrificing was a tougher prospect, even with the ReachGuard willing to turn a blind eye and Eola's Namira Cult willing to accept the meat after with no questions asked.

“Ye – no. I mean, not yet,” Madanach said, frowning. “That shrine is active again for a reason. I want to find out what it is, and for that I need someone willing to go into the house and open negotiations. Once we know what Molag Bal's after, I can maybe look into our next move, and with any luck, he'll be amenable to me moving the shrine somewhere safer. Somewhere out of the way. Where we can either contain it, sacrifice to it away from the public eye, or abandon it and deny everything.”

And that was Madanach all over – if you couldn't fix a problem, palm it off onto someone else, ideally a Nordic someone else, far away from the Reach. Still, it was an attitude that had come in useful many times before now.

“You want the Brotherhood to handle it,” Delphine guessed correctly. Madanach nodded, looking a little guilty at this point and so he should.

“Normally I'd ask Keirine, but if I start sending Matriarchs in there, everyone will think I know there's a serious problem in that house,” Madanach said. “Which I do, but... hang it, Delphine, you must know someone who's brave enough to risk Molag Bal's wrath and able to protect themselves from magical corruption. Especially from Molag Bal – Sithis, Delphine, I don't want to send one of my people in there and have them emerge a possessed rapist or something.”

A paranoid response perhaps, but paranoia had served both Delphine and Madanach well before now and both regarded it as an old friend by this point. So Delphine needed to find someone trustworthy to act as emissary to Molag Bal. Someone who either could resist magical mind control or if they did turn rapist, would be easy to subdue. Someone unlikely to turn rapist... wait. Of course. 

“Babette,” Delphine said softly. “She could do it. She's got a child's body, she'd be easy to subdue physically, that childish demeanour only works if you don't know she's really a vampire. Sure, she's got magic, but Eola knows how to dispel and absorb that. And aren't vampires sacred to Molag Bal or something?”

“He created them,” Madanach said, his interest caught. “Of course, she's perfect. When can you get her here?”

“I'll send word to Dawnstar in the morning,” Delphine promised. “Don't worry. She'll be here within the day.”

The relief on Madanach's face couldn't have been more evident as he saw her out, thanking her profusely and swearing he'd pay her well for this, any assistance et cetera. Delphine smiled and told him not to worry, she'd be sure to help. And she would, she really would. Getting to hear all about Madanach's sordid past as part of a gay sadomasochist cult was almost worth it on its own. It was just a shame she couldn't tell Cicero. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The lights were still lit and the fire burning quietly when Madanach returned to the master bedroom, which was unexpected. Elisif had retreated to bed some time ago feeling tired and exhausted and Madanach expected her to have been long asleep by now. Except he could feel this little ball of tightly wound anxiety in his head and it slowly occurred to him it wasn't his own.

She was sitting by the fire, hand on her stomach, dressed in her nightshift with furs wrapped round her, and Madanach could feel the anxiety radiating out of her.

“Are you not in bed, my love?” Madanach murmured, coming to stand behind her and hold her. Elisif forestalled that idea by getting up, slowly and unsteadily but fiercely determined as she made her way over. Ah. She was angry-worried and stubborn as ever – he'd seen that expression before. He had a feeling he wasn't getting out of this one.

“Elisif?” he began and Elisif stopped him, pressing a finger to his lips before cuddling him tight.

“I couldn't sleep,” Elisif whispered. “I could feel you, can still feel you! Something's wrong, don't tell me it isn't! Madanach, what happened? Is everything all right?”

No, of course not, he had a man dead, an innocent boy turned killer sitting in his cells, and an active Daedric shrine that he'd once sacrificed to in his city. Nothing was all right, and his wife, beloved, beautiful Elisif, she who made everything worth it, was probably going to hate him for this.

“No,” Madanach admitted, burying his face in her hair and closing his eyes, savouring the intimacy while it lasted. “Elisif... Elisif, you should sit down for this.”

Elisif shivered in his arms, and he could feel the dread from her, a haunted sense of _oh-no-what-now-what-has-he-done??_ and she assented, letting him go and leading him to the bed, head bowed as she readied herself.

Madanach followed, nodding quietly to her as she indicated for him to sit on the edge of the bed, and then she was there next to him, arms around him and forehead pressed to his cheek.

“Tell me,” she said quietly and Madanach wondered where to even begin. Well, better start with the part most obviously her problem.

“Erikur's dead,” Madanach told her. “And before you say anything, no I didn't authorise it. I like to think Delphine's people are a bit more discreet than that.”

“Erikur... dead?” Elisif had gone pale, but Madanach wasn't detecting much in the way of grief out of her. She was shocked, yes... but not really surprised or that regretful. Elisif really hadn't liked Erikur that much. “What happened, Madanach?”

Madanach closed his eyes and told her. About the fight with Hreinn, the door opening, closing... and re-opening with just a live Hreinn and a very dead Erikur.

Elisif listened in growing horror and shrieked a bit at the description of Erikur's remains and Madanach wondered if he should perhaps have spared Elisif some of the details there.

“This is awful,” Elisif whispered. “That poor boy! What did Erikur do to him??”

“Tried to throttle him from the look of it – wait. You're taking Hreinn's side?” Madanach looked up, startled. He'd have thought Elisif would be outraged at yet another member of her court dying... and yet she just looked frightened for poor Hreinn.

“I never liked Erikur that much,” Elisif admitted. “But personal feelings aside, he was still Thane of Solitude. Except now he's dead and from the sound of it, he brought it on himself. So I do sympathise, but dammit Madanach, you have put me in a very awkward position.”

“I'm sorry,” Madanach said, the familiar guilt and self-loathing assailing him as he realised he'd disappointed her yet again... and then a sense of furious, fiery affection that definitely wasn't his as his wife drew him closer. Bless Elisif. He really didn't deserve her but this felt very nice indeed.

“It's all right,” Elisif sighed. “His only kin is his younger sister Gisli... and she hated him. I'll have to see if Erikur made a will, but Jarls can occasionally override wills if they're either not lawfully drawn up or don't make sufficient provision for kin and dependants or are believed to have been drawn up with malice aforethought.”

“Malice aforethought!” Madanach laughed. “I like the sound of that, is that Nordic for royally fucking someone over in the inheritance stakes?”

“Yes, but we don't invoke it often,” Elisif said, grinning a little. “But if Erikur's will turns out to contain conditional clauses or leaves large amounts of the estate to someone other than Gisli, I think I'd be justified in stepping in to make sure she gets a fair share of all assets, and honestly I think all she cares about is the coin. I mean, she'll want weregild from his killer, but I doubt she'll make a huge deal about it.”

“I'll be sure to send her some generous gifts, a large amount of coin and the Mournful Throne's sincere apologies and condolences for her loss,” Madanach promised, feeling a little better now he was certain a diplomatic incident wasn't going to arise. Thank the gods the deceased wasn't someone anyone actually liked... or was he? “Elisif, this may sound an odd question but did anyone actually like the man?”

“I don't know,” Elisif admitted, biting her lip. “He had enemies, I know that much, was rumoured to be mixed up in all sorts. He was respected... but I don't think he had that many actual friends.”

“And his kin'll be quite happy if we just throw money at the problem – Elisif, thank you, you have eased an old man's heart considerably. But then you always do.” He kissed her on the cheek and Elisif responded by smiling, soft and gentle affection flowing out of her and then she'd kissed him back, was kissing him rather more strongly than he'd expected, softness and gentleness getting that bit more urgent and yes, gods yes, he loved her, wanted her, did he want to play top or bottom tonight, he wasn't sure, and then he remembered what else he still needed to deal with and felt all desire leave him and the guilt return.

“What,” Elisif whispered as he let her go. “What is it – Madanach?”

“It's worse than you think,” Madanach said quietly. “Elisif, I – Hreinn didn't just decide to kill Erikur on a whim. He was forced to. Cariad, you... before I say anything else, please know I love you and always will, you mean so much to me, I...”

“Stop,” Elisif whispered, hand to his cheek, lifting his head to face her, concern all over her face, scarred though it was but still beautiful to him. “Madanach. Tell me. No more secrets, you promised me.”

Fingers sliding along his cheek, into his hair and clenching just slightly, just enough to remind him what she was capable of, and Madanach clung on to her tightly, willing her not to go, not to leave, he'd miss her, she was the light of his life, the sun in the darkness, as far as he was concerned.

“You will hate me for this,” Madanach whispered, head resting on his shoulder, not even able to look at her. “You'll leave me and take the baby and I don't blame you.”

“Tell me,” was all Elisif said, rubbing his back, and the affection was there, the undeserved balm of love and care that made him just want to curl up in her arms and never leave. It was breaking his heart.

“The house they fell into, the abandoned one,” Madanach said softly. “It wasn't always abandoned. There's a shrine to Molag Bal down there. We used to sacrifice criminals to it back in the first kingdom. Rapists, stalkers and sexual offenders usually, but anyone believed beyond redemption. After the Nords took the city, the house sealed itself up and no one could get in. Until tonight. We think the fight right outside the house got its attention somehow. His attention. We think he made them fight to the death in there and wouldn't let them out until one won.”

Elisif had gone very still, and he couldn't even read her right now, and then there it came, terror, revulsion, shoving him away as Elisif got up, walking away, head in her hands, actually trembling.

“Molag Bal. Here.”

Madanach nodded, not trusting himself to speak because he had a feeling he'd just lose it completely and end up sobbing all over her.

“And you used to sacrifice to him. When you were king before.”

“Yes,” Madanach said softly. “Elisif, I was younger then, brasher, an idiot in so many ways, Mireen was a devotee, she used to watch and haul me back to bed afterwards, I -”

“Shut up about fucking Mireen!” Elisif snarled, rage so potent it nearly smacked him back as she whirled round, or at least the nearest thing she could manage in her pregnant state. Madanach flinched back, instinctively throwing up a ward to protect himself from the inevitable thrown object... and then realised it had stopped, and there was just guilt and regret now. He couldn't remember Mireen ever feeling guilty.

“Am I in danger?” Elisif whispered. “Is the baby in danger – Madanach, what does it want, does it want you to start sacrificing again??”

“I don't know!” Madanach cried. “I already told Delphine, she's bringing someone suitable down in the next day or so to negotiate.”

“Negotiate??” Elisif cried, horrified. “With a Daedra??”

“I can't ignore this, Elisif!” Madanach cried. “I need to find out what he's after, see if I can neutralise it somehow, move it somewhere else. I need to – I need to do something before someone else ends up dead! Elisif, I'm sorry, I – Elisif?”

Elisif wasn't meeting his eyes. She'd looked away, glanced in one of the mirrors and shuddered, as she almost always did when she thought he wasn't watching – except now he'd caught her doing it and could feel her own self-loathing and upset.

“Fuck the Daedra,” she said softly. “Fuck. Them. All. One minute you're living your life, the next you run across a Daedric Prince and then you're never the same again. And Molag Bal, why, Madanach, why?? How many Molag Bal worshippers have you got in the Reach anyway?”

“I don't know,” Madanach sighed. “I haven't counted. No organised cult any more, the Nords killed most of them, either wiping out the cult centres or by killing all the young men and women who might have joined. We didn't worship him as such – we didn't sacrifice, not often, and that was mostly cult members who'd gone too far. It was a leadership academy, Elisif, we practised consensual domination, teaching and training future leaders how to wield power responsibly. It was... rough, I admit, and not to everyone's taste, but I did well, Elisif. I made friends, allies, met Mireen that way. I don't think I'd ever have become King without their support, and I know I would never have been worthy of the title if they'd not got hold of me and whipped me into shape.”

“Literally?” Elisif couldn't help but ask, and Madanach sighed and nodded.

“Literally,” he admitted. “There was a three hour initiation rite – normally it's shorter but I held out for ages before caving. Then a four year apprenticeship – again, it's usually only a year or two but I was a stubborn bastard even then and it took my master a year to break me – what?”

Elisif had turned to face him, turning slightly then remembering she couldn't see out of the left eye and turning to face him full on. She'd not been shocked before, outraged perhaps but not shocked. She certainly was now though.

“You were part of some sado-masochism cult?”

Madanach nodded, wondering why that surprised her. It really shouldn't by this point.

“And you had a _master?_ ” Elisif gasped. “Not a mistress?”

“Yeah,” Madanach said quietly. “Does that bother you?”

Elisif made her way back over and sat down next to him, still not touching him but this was something at least.

“Did you tell Delphine this?” Elisif asked and as Madanach nodded, that was when the anger hit back again.

“Damn it, Madanach, you're not married to her, you're married to me!” Elisif snapped. “You can't tell her this and not me!”

“I'm telling you now!” Madanach cried. “I didn't give her details or anything!”

“I want details,” Elisif said firmly, glaring at him. “You are going to tell me everything. Not right now, we're both tired and I need sleep and... look, tell me this, Madanach. Are you still... I mean... do you still worship him? Are you still bound to him?”

“Do I have to do what he tells me and am I going to Coldharbour when I die?” Madanach asked, small smile involuntarily crossing his lips. “No. The oaths were to my brothers and sisters in the cult and to my master, with Molag Bal only claiming us if we broke them. The priests and priestesses swore oaths directly to him, but I never did. And after the Nords took my city, I lost any faith I might have had in his power. I don't follow him now, I swear it. I'm yours, cariad.”

“Mine and Dibella's,” Elisif said, glancing at the shrine mounted across from their bed. “I swear I still don't know why you've converted to Dibella worship, although I can believe that the Reachmen have worshipped her for centuries.”

“She gave me you,” Madanach said, shrugging. “Brought you back to me. Felt I owed her. I got her her Sybil back after that little misunderstanding with the Hags – now we've got peace, doesn't matter if the Sybil's prophesying in a Redoubt or the Markarth Temple, does it? It was all while you were gone, I was hoping she'd bring you back, and even returning the Sybil didn't do it, so I started tithing and attending services. Got Mother Hamal to get me a little amulet, got a shrine put in here, and within a week I had you back. Of course I converted. She's one of the Eight, I wasn't aware you had a problem with them.” 

“She's the goddess of beauty!” Elisif cried. “She's in charge of all things sensual and beautiful! Why would you thank her for me, I'm not pretty any more!”

The self-loathing felt like he'd been stabbed. So preoccupied with his own, he'd not even realised she felt that way. Why would she, after all? She might not be perfectly pretty, but she was strong now, strong and determined and yet still sweet and compassionate and caring and... Madanach didn't care about the scars. They'd never made him love her less, or pity her, in fact he found them rather attractive. He'd not realised how much it still bothered her. She had been making excuses to avoid the Temple but he'd assumed it was due to the pregnancy tiring her. Apparently not.

“I look hideous,” Elisif said quietly. “And then I got pregnant and now I'm fat and weak and can't walk more than a few feet without needing to sit down, and I've got stretch marks now and need to empty my bladder all the time and I'm tired and... if a werewolf went for me now, I'd be dead in seconds.”

“If a werewolf went for you now, it would be dead in seconds,” Madanach murmured, moving closer and putting his arms around her. “My ReachGuard are not leaving you alone. Why do you think I do what I do, hmm? To keep my kingdom safe. To keep my family safe. To keep you safe. Elisif, I don't care about the scars, the stretchmarks, any of that. I care you're in pain and suffering, I always did. But I don't think you know just what a difference you make in my life. I'm proud to be married to you, beloved. I imagine you probably don't feel the same.”

To his surprise, Elisif turned around and hugged him, looking rather strange, as if she was about to cry. 

“You stupid man,” Elisif whispered. “You're my husband and you're staying with me!”

Madanach tightened his grip and kissed her cheek, knowing he was getting all emotional and not really caring. He loved Elisif, and that was never changing. 

“I love you too, woman,” he said gruffly. “I don't care what you look like, you're my wife and I never want to lose you.”

She didn't answer but she didn't have to, he could feel it welling out of her, a torrent of emotion that changed too rapidly to put precise names on but it was fear, sadness, longing, hope, need... and trust. Elisif trusted him still and wanted him still, and the more he held her, the more she seemed to pick up on what he was feeling and suddenly she was smiling again, surprised yet tearful, but pleased.

“You really mean it, don't you!” she gasped. Madanach nodded, not really trusting himself to speak right now. He just clung on to her, her very presence helping, as it always did.

“I still want details,” Elisif whispered, snuggling into his arms. “And that shrine is _going._ ”

“Yes, Elisif,” Madanach murmured, feeling quite happy now his wife had apparently forgiven him.

“And you're mine. Not Molag Bal's!” Elisif muttered, and Madanach nodded, shivering as he snuggled with her.

“I nearly was,” he murmured back. “Swearing the priest's oath would have got the door open, I was seriously thinking about it when it opened anyway.”

That did get a reaction. Elisif shivered in his arms and then he felt her fingers grasping him, rather harder than was strictly warranted.

“Why on earth – to save Erikur?? No... no, it was the boy, wasn't it? You wanted to save... they're twins aren't they? Hreinn and Hroki.”

Madanach nodded, not really wanting to answer this or think too long about this. Elisif didn't press him, just cuddled him harder.

“You idiot,” Elisif whispered, cheek wet against his. “You stupid, stupid... don't you even dare swear your soul to the Daedra again, you hear me? You're not... you're mine! You're not allowed to! You... I need you. The baby needs you. Don't you even dare.”

“Yes, Brenhina,” Madanach murmured, holding her tight and sorry, he was sorry, he didn't like seeing her upset, he loved her, she was his beautiful Elisif who always made him smile and who made his life better just by being in it. Of course he didn't want to lose her or leave her, he'd do anything for her. 

The Bond did its magic, telling her the truth of all that without him having to say a word and he felt her shift in his arms, feeling her determination to hold on to him overriding all the sadness and desperation underneath. Elisif kissed him on the lips then let him go, nestling back against the pillows and holding out a hand to him.

“Come on,” she said quietly. “Come to bed. You need your sleep, so do I. We'll deal with all this in the morning, right?”

Madanach nodded and crept into bed alongside her. Closing his eyes, he was asleep in seconds.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Morning brought with it a subdued Markarth, mostly hungover, and with a citizenry whispering urgently about a certain incident in a certain abandoned house. But the ReachGuard were well-trained and efficient and the bloodstains had been scoured away, and two guards stood on watch outside the house with the entrance roped off.

Gossips Markarthians and Reachmen from elsewhere might be, but fortunately for their king, they were also very clannish, and the usual exchanges of information between servants that the wealthy relied on simply didn't happen. Which meant both Maven Black-Briar and Sabrinda were chafing at the bit at the lack of interesting stories to be had when they departed the following morning.

“So, Madanach, did Thane Erikur make it home all right last night?” Maven purred as she prepared to take her leave.

Hesitation from Madanach, and he knew damn well Elisif's ability to control her emotions was woeful at the best of times. 

“Maven, I'm hardly likely to have had reports from the highway patrols and the border guards in yet,” Madanach laughed nervously, knowing she'd probably want details but hoping to keep her at bay for a bit longer. Elisif was just shaking her head and doing her best to look sorrowful.

“I have a world of trouble to deal with when I get back to Solitude,” Elisif sighed. “His sister's reaction, the court's reaction, all the gossip. He won't be able to stay Thane after this, I don't think.”

Maven raised an eyebrow and although her information had been patchy, she'd heard the odd whisper.

“I'd heard guards complaining of having to scour blood off the stone out in the city, was there some sort of incident?” she purred.

“Ach, just some punch-up between two drunks,” Madanach shrugged. “These things happen. Two Nords, as it happens. One spilt the other's drink, I think there was a woman involved, nothing terribly out of the ordinary. I'll be having a hearing in a day or two.”

“They called you out of your big occasion for a mere brawl,” Maven said, faintly disbelieving. “That does surprise me. For interrupting you, I'd expect nothing less than someone seeing Sovngarde.”

“Oh believe me, no one's seeing Sovngarde,” Madanach promised, absolutely truthfully, and Elisif was nodding along with him, hoping Maven bought it. Maven didn't buy it, but she also knew when not to press.

“Oh I do believe you, Madanach,” Maven smirked. “Send my regards to young Gisli, won't you? I do look forward to seeing her at the next big occasion.”

“I'm sure she'll be very pleased to see you!” Elisif piped up, looking a bit too cheerful to entirely convince. Maven smiled and purred that she hoped so, before taking her leave, taking Hemming's arm with Maul behind her and several Nord servants hauling their baggage out to the carriages.

“Do you think we got away with that?” Elisif whispered to Madanach. Madanach paused, wondering how to tactfully suggest to Elisif about the only way she was going to succeed at this sort of thing was if they revived the Breton tradition of masked balls. Not while she was pregnant, that was for sure.

“No, but Maven will not care how he died, I assure you, only that he's dead and no one's tying it to her. She'll probably send me flowers,” Madanach sighed.

Elisif did raise an eyebrow, not entirely sure she approved of other women sending her husband flowers, especially Maven. As long as she didn't get any ideas though, Elisif supposed she could live with it.

And then Sabrinda turned up, back in her Thalmor robes but still glamorously intimidating and Elisif could feel her throat seize up with that mix of jealousy, envy and something approximating want that nearly always paralysed her when the Thalmor Ambassador walked in.

“Oh Sithis, not again,” Madanach murmured, already feeling the pining. It was too late to say anything to his wife though. The Thalmor Ambassador was here.

“Ambassador,” Madanach said, forcing a smile to his face. “Are you leaving us so soon?”

“Afraid so, at this time of year they tell me the roads can be nearly impassable in the mountains,” Sabrinda said, shrugging a little. “Especially in Haafingar. Best if we don't linger.”

Best all round although for very different reasons. Madanach nodded, schooling his face into polite neutrality and hoping Elisif was doing something similar.

“I understand completely. Elisif and I will be in Solitude soon for New Life, we're hoping to make the journey sooner rather than later. Elisif's got her heart set on a traditional Nordic New Life festival seeing as it's our first one together, isn't that right, ceilhinama – Elisif?”

Elisif had left his side, and there she was, trying to bend down to talk to the latest arrivals, namely little Ancalime and her father.

“Hello little one!” Elisif was crooning over the little elfling. “It's lovely to see you! Did you like the party?”

Ancalime didn't answer, but she was smiling shyly at the High Queen, who'd turned out to be nice and lovely really and not at all frightening or elf-hating like Ancalime had heard humans could be. She nodded enthusiastically.

“Are you going to have any more?” Ancalime whispered.

“I'm sure we will,” Elisif promised. “We're having a party at the Bards' College on New Life Day, a little winter festival. There'll be fruit pudding and snowberry juice and sweetmeats and pies and three entire geese on spits! And presents for the children. Headmaster Viarmo has promised he will dress up as Zenithar the god of plenty and hand out presents to all the good boys and girls.”

“And with any luck, Inge Six-Fingers will dress up as the Alda-Cailleach and hand out coal to the bad ones,” Madanach smirked, although he hastily wiped the smile off his face when Elisif glared at him.

“Old Reach legend,” he explained to Sabrinda, hoping Sabrinda's knowledge of Reach-lore was minimal and she didn't know the Alda-Cailleach was actually Namira by any other name, goddess of pests and revolting things like slugs, spiders, skeevers, rats, gangrene, anything involving weeping sores, oh, and children, which said all you needed to know about the Reachman sense of humour right there.

“I see,” Sabrinda said stiffly, but she was soon distracted by her daughter whispering to her father if she could go to the Bards College Winter Festival, and Meryndor saying she'd have to ask her mother. And then hopeful green eyes were turning on Sabrinda.

“Please, Mamma?” Ancalime whispered. Sabrinda stared, clearly not liking this at all, before turning to Elisif, who was also looking hopeful.

“We'd love to see you all!” Elisif said brightly, despite the indisputable fact that the citizens of Solitude would all vastly prefer it if the Thalmor were nowhere near the place.

“Is Thane Erikur going to be there?” Sabrinda said, gritting her teeth. Well, at least he could reassure her on that point.

“Oh no, of course not,” Madanach promised. Elisif was also nodding vigorously.

“After last night's disgraceful display, I should think not,” Elisif said. “Don't you worry, Ambassador, he's not going to be a problem.”

“Good,” Sabrinda said, reassured somewhat at least. “Well, in Alinor we traditionally celebrate the Eve, not the Day... but I suppose we could stop by for a few hours in the afternoon.”

“Yes! Thanks Mamma!” Ancalime squealed before remembering she was supposed to be a good and quiet Altmer girl in public and piped down. Didn't stop her sidling over and cuddling her mother though. Madanach looked, looked twice, and revised his estimate of Sabrinda. Maybe she had a job to do and maybe she looked down on humans and maybe she was a damn Thalmor elven supremacist with a mandate to destabilise human kingdoms wherever possible... but it was clear she was no Mireen either.

“There, there, dearest,” Sabrinda sighed. “Now, we have a long journey so say goodbye to King Madanach and Queen Elisif like I told you, and help your father with your things.”

Ancalime nodded and promptly dropped him a curtsey.

“Goodbye, Your Grace,” Ancalime said, very formally and good gods, Your Grace? Technically the formal title, but absolutely no one in his court ever used it. Sir and milord, yes, Reach-King, yes, but not that. Madanach really wasn't used to it. “Thank you for inviting us, we had a lovely time.”

“Thank you for coming, henbach, it was lovely to meet you,” Madanach told her, grinning. “You're a credit to your parents.”

Ancalime blushed and ran off to repeat the gesture with Elisif who promptly exclaimed Ancalime didn't need to do that, and she was quite happy for Cali to cuddle her, which the little Altmer promptly did then ran off to join the father who was also exchanging easy pleasantries with Elisif, even helping her up, something Elisif had difficulty with these days, and dammit that was his job! Madanach scowled at the man, irrationally angry at him for being charming and handsome and friendly. He'd had half the party, even those who hated the Thalmor, eating out of his hand before the end. Damn him.

But Madanach smiled and said his own goodbyes, even managing a handshake, and then the Thalmor were gone. Madanach finally breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank Sithis,” he scowled. “No more damn Altmer in my keep, thank you.”

“I thought you liked elves,” Elisif scolded, coming to take his arm. “You said you had a particular thing for Altmer once.”

Madanach muttered something barely audible about height and gold skin and ears and how dare they swan about with their high and mighty attitudes looking like that, they had no right. Elisif shook her head.

“You're impossible,” she sighed. Then she edged closer, worry returning. “Are you going to be all right on your own?”

They'd talked about it earlier. They'd been supposed to spend three days here then travel to Solitude together for New Life. But Elisif didn't want to delay going home and breaking the news to Gisli of her brother's death, and as for Madanach, he wanted his beautiful wife with his child inside her as far away as possible from a city with a shrine to Molag Bal in it.

He would miss her horribly. He'd be lonely, he knew. But he'd survive, probably better than if she was here for him to fret and fuss over and probably drive up the wall with the clinginess.

“Yes,” Madanach said, kissing her on the cheek. “I have people here to keep an eye on me. I'll be OK. But you should leave without delay.”

Elisif nodded, looking a bit tearful but agreeing. With most of the dignitaries having taken their leave by this point, it was time for Elisif to get her own things together and get to the safety of Solitude. Madanach didn't want her to go... but with Molag Bal taking an interest, he wanted her far away from this city. Even that might not protect her entirely... but by Sithis, he'd never willingly put her in harm's way if he could help it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And next chapter Cicero's back as the Dark Brotherhood start work. Poor Babette in particular has a bit of a shock coming to her...


	7. Brotherhood on the Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new job for the Brotherhood means Cicero has work to do. And it's not just Cicero. Just as Dawnstar thought they could relax, the summons from the Listener will have implications for one of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wolf Queen Awakens is finished which means I can write OTHER THINGS! Hurrah! Anyway, here we are, back in the universe where the gods had a bit of a nervous breakdown and ~~evil won~~ the Dragonborn is not a heroic young Nord trying to save her country but a psychotic little fruitloop with an unhealthy love of blood. I have missed writing him as a protagonist - seeing him from the outside does mean I can't go into his characterisation as much. But here, we get Cicero in all his bloodthirsty glory. And there's a lot of him in this chapter. Enjoy!

Cicero by contrast had had a very relaxing morning. He didn't remember a lot of last night, everything after the fight had got a bit hazy. There'd been singing and dancing, possibly on a table with Ria, possibly falling off it and landing on Vilkas, and then an overwhelming feeling of sadness, and being carried off by his Listener – no, Listener wasn't that burly. Had it been Farkas? No, no, the scent was wrong and the hair silver – Papa? 

Cicero hoped so. His relationship with his father was... complicated. Cicero remembered his father's proud smile and comforting arms before he'd known about the Dark Brotherhood bit... then the rejection and anger that had followed. The last few months had been an awkward dance of trying to make up for it, but Cicero could never do the one thing that would really please Kodlak no matter how hard he tried. But try he did anyway, and to be fair Kodlak did care in his own way. He just didn't approve. And it hurt. Cicero was a hero, a Dragonborn, saviour of the world! Twice! And still his father didn't love him just because Cicero had stabbed a lot of people. Honestly, wasn't like Kodlak had never killed anyone.

But it was how it was, and Cicero still loyally visited every other week or so to take Jorrvaskr jobs, say hello and summon his mother's spirit so his parents could see each other. And Kodlak's reaction on seeing him had changed from grudging to an awkward pat on the back to laughing despite himself at Cicero's more lawful exploits to cheering Cicero on in sparring matches with Vilkas to actually seeming pleased to see him and even worrying a little. There'd even been hugs, and that time Cicero had had flu but snuck out of Sky Haven Temple anyway, doped up to the eyeballs on traditional Reach remedies, somehow getting to Jorrvaskr without really recalling how and collapsing as soon as he got in the door. He'd spent a week there being looked after by Tilma and Kodlak, both of whom scolded him for leaving the house in that state, couldn't he have just written and said he was ill? Then Delphine had turned up and snapped at him, but also agreed he was too poorly for a long journey back. And Cicero had snuggled up to her and whispered he was sorry, he was, but he'd promised Kodlak, he had, and Delphine had whispered he was an idiot, Kodlak would have understood if he was ill, and now Kodlak was going to be put to the trouble of caring for him for a week until he was feeling better. Cicero had been sorry, he really had, but on the other hand, Kodlak had been kind to him and brought him potions and food and stroked his hair and told him he was glad to see him. He'd even told him stories and unlike children's stories, Kodlak could leave the gory bits in. It had been nice! It had been fun. Cicero had felt loved. And since then, things had been better and Kodlak had been kind to poor Cicero and Cicero had liked that and been affectionate right back.

But all the same, Cicero could tell Kodlak didn't entirely approve, or regretted he'd never been able to direct Cicero on a different path, and it couldn't help but bother Cicero, that his father couldn't just love him anyway. But it seemed his father may have comforted him last night and tucked him up in bed, which was unexpected but nice, very nice.

And so here he was, up, about, a bit fuzzy but awake, sitting in his motley out in the Keep's main room, carefully drinking tea and sipping some Reachman broth with bread and cheese on the side, letting the alchemical talents of the Reachmen revive him while his lovers were still sleeping.

“Are you all right there, Dragonborn?” That was one of the guards, Rhodri ap Ieuan of Karthspire if Cicero recalled correctly. 

“Yes thank you!” Cicero chirped. “Cicero is very tired still, but the broth is making him feel much better! But Cicero is feeling rather lonely and Eola and the Listener are still asleep. Have you seen any of the Companions this morning?”

“Nah. Still nursing hangovers,” Rhodri smirked. “All the cocktails were too much for them. Nords just can't hold their booze.”

Nords had no idea how to drink properly in Cicero's point of view but all the same, it turned out they were his kin so he felt obliged to pout a bit.

“But Cicero's papa is old and frail, he might appreciate a bit of reviving soup. So might pretty Ria who is not even a Nord. They might like it if someone took some broth to them. And Cicero is too fragile to do it himself. Also Cicero has been repeatedly told he is not to creep into their bedrooms while they are asleep and bother them, especially when they have hangovers. Cicero would hate to be a bother.”

Rhodri gritted his teeth and looked as if he'd dearly like to tell Cicero what the Companions could do with their hangovers and that furthermore Kodlak might be old but frail he was not... but Cicero was Dragonborn and the Reachmen knew what else he was too. So Rhodri sighed and gave in.

“Fine. I'll have someone walk outside their rooms with some hot broth, and if they're interested they can come out and have some. If they're still asleep or can't be arsed to get up, that's their problem.”

“Thank you, Rhodri!” Cicero trilled, knowing he'd won and surely someone soon would be up and about and ready to keep poor Cicero company.

He was right. About ten minutes later, Ria was staggering out, hair unbrushed, scaled armour not on properly and who knew where her weapons were. But she was here if a little wild-eyed and descending on the bowl of broth Cicero pushed her way.

“Is it nice, my sweetling?” Cicero cooed, patting his daughter gently on the back as she consumed half of it, then chucked the spoon aside and drank the rest straight from the bowl. Cicero tutted a little and poured her some tea, hoping she didn't try and down that in one as well. He didn't want to have to take her to the healers for a burnt throat. Fortunately once done with the broth, she just folded her arms and rested her head on the table.

“Oh, that was good,” Ria gasped. “So good! What was in it?”

“Meat. Gravy. Onions. Peas. Carrots. Juniper leaves to season it. Oh, and Hair of the Wolf.” And probably other things as well, but Cicero decided asking for details of the exact ingredients of anything the Reachmen had made was just asking for trouble.

“Hair of the Wolf?” Ria asked suspiciously.

“The hair of the wolf that bit you,” Cicero explained. “Specifically, red wine. Do not fret, beloved child, they say the alcohol burns off during cooking.”

Ria looked a little sceptical, but helped herself to some bread and cheese to counteract whatever had been in the dish she'd just devoured.

“Well, it worked. Gods, Cicero, what did we do last night?”

“Cicero doesn't know. Cicero was hoping you remembered. Cicero remembers that disgusting Thane subjecting his Listener to vile abuse and getting thrown out but not a lot after.” Cicero snuggled closer to Ria, glad of the company and still not used to having a child but enjoying it regardless. Ria for her part, once over the initial shock, seemed to have accepted him with open arms, always happy to cuddle and talk to him even if she still called him Cicero rather than father. Cicero didn't really mind. She loved him, that was enough.

“We had a lot to drink. And we were singing Cyrodiilic Rhapsody and you hit all the high notes and everything. And then you missed your mama and got upset and had to be taken to bed – oh no, don't cry again!”

Cicero felt the memory slowly coming back and with it the old pain. He squeezed Ria's hand and rested his head against her shoulder, wishing Stelmaria was here, really here, not just a Thu'um-invoked ghost. But she was not and Cicero was alone. But thanks to Ria and everyone else, not lonely these days.

“Thank you, my child,” Cicero murmured. “You are very kind to your poor father.” 

Ria put an arm around him and kissed the top of his head. “Hey. She's my nonna too. I miss her as well. But we're both here, aren't we? We got each other, right?”

“We have, we have!” Cicero cooed, and then he remembered she was usually in Jorrvaskr, far away. “Are you staying in Markarth for New Life or going home? Cicero is sure Madanach would not mind if you stayed. The Reach-King likes you!”

“Yeah, he's not so bad,” Ria admitted. “And yeah, we're going to be here for a few days, or I will. Madanach's given Kodlak some job involving clearing out these Daedra worshippers in the Reach, but apparently I can't go. Kodlak says it's just going to be him and the twins. It's so unfair, why can't I go?”

Cicero knew full well why Madanach was calling werewolves in to take care of it and nothing appalled him more than Ria going.

“Ria, Ria, you cannot!” Cicero cried. “It is dangerous! No, no, Ria must stay here and keep her poor father company!” He pouted up at her with all the sadness he could muster and for a few brief seconds it did work... until Ria narrowed her eyes.

“Dangerous how exactly? You usually love dangerous things,” Ria said, suspicious. “Come to think of it, why aren't you going, if the ReachGuard can't handle it?”

Cicero paused, wondering how much to tell her. Cicero knew what it was, of course. Cicero had heard rumours about the more public Daedric Shrine in the Reach, heard talk that the headman of Karthwasten secretly worshipped Peryite... and then found out he wasn't the only one, as Madanach had arranged a state visit to Karthwasten, ostensibly to inspect the mines and reassure the new Sybil of Dibella's parents that their daughter was settling in well at the Temple and the Forsworn wouldn't be interfering again and wasn't Dibella marvellous? And then promptly gone to pay a visit to the Shrine of Peryite on his way home. One commune with the Divine Taskmaster later and Madanach had a contract on some wayward worshippers to sort out... and no one willing to get closer to the afflicted than they had to. Which might have been a problem... until Madanach recalled he had a werewolf daughter immune to disease who'd recently been asking if he knew anything about a cure. Hence calling in Kodlak. Cicero disapproved a little of the blatant blackmailing of his poor father, but on the other hand, if it meant his parents reunited, he could live with it.

“Because they have dangerous weapons at their disposal, my sweet,” Cicero purred. “They are worshippers of the Lord of Pestilence, Madanach needs people immune to disease. So he is hiring werewolves. Hircine's blood will protect them.”

“Oh! Oh, well that makes sense,” Ria said, nodding as she munched on her bread and cheese sandwich. “OK, I suppose I get why I can't go, and why you're not going either. Didn't Madanach want to send Eola in then? Or doesn't he want people to know she's a...?”

“Oh, I'm going,” Eola purred, waltzing in with nary a sign of anything resembling a hangover and a plateful of sausages, bacon and a slab of rump steak cooked to order (namely, barely cooked at all) in her hand, which she promptly settled down and began tucking in to. “Da just didn't want me going in alone, and seeing as Kodlak's going to owe us a favour for our assistance, we're calling it in ahead of time. Don't know if we'll be heading out today, but certainly tomorrow. Hope Kodlak's ready.”

“He will be,” Ria promised. “Although he doesn't seem to like the idea and Vilkas seems bothered too. Eola, is there anything we need to watch out for?”

“Apart from infected cultists who spew toxic green vomit?” Eola asked, in between mouthfuls of meat which may or may not have come from non-sentient animals. “No. Their leader's said to be quite the mage, but nothing you guys can't handle, and I'll be there to provide backup. Just kill them all, come back, get paid, job done, everyone's happy. I imagine Kodlak just isn't keen on working for Da, any more than Da would have hired him if he'd had a choice. But don't worry. Da pays well and isn't planning anything untoward.”

Probably not involving the Companions anyway. Cicero stopped snuggling Ria and leaned forward to coo at Eola.

“And how are you feeling this morning, my beloved? Listener is not with you, is she well?”

“Still asleep, she was up quite late talking with Da and then coming back and having to sort you out,” Eola said, looking rather more sternly at Cicero than was really warranted, Cicero felt. It wasn't his fault there'd been so many shiny drinks around and that he didn't have a werewolf's constitution. “Anyway, listen up. We've got a job from the sounds of it. Or rather, you have. Del needs you to get on Odahviing, get yourself to Dawnstar and fetch Babette.”

“Babette?” Cicero blinked, confused. “Why does our Listener require Babette? The Reach has alchemists! Surely our hangovers are not that severe.”

“I don't know. She was tired and wanted to go to bed,” Eola said pointedly. “She's Listener. You're Keeper. You do what you're told and don't ask questions. She wants Babette for some unspecified job only Babette can do, you get Babette for her. Clear?”

Cicero huffed a bit, a little wounded at Eola snapping at him, but a job was a job and an order from the Listener was not to be questioned. So Cicero sighed, gave in and prepared to take his leave. He'd go back to the room and see if Delphine was awake to say goodbye to and to verify that fetching Babette was definitely her wish, and then he supposed he'd have to go find Odahviing.

Why Delphine needed the services of a child vampire, he had no idea. But he had a feeling this would be an intriguing one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Babette was used to spending her days resting in her own room with all her alchemy things just so – tools in the dresser, ingredients in the basket, results all stacked up in the chest, her working journals on the shelf. She was used to awaking at a leisurely pace first thing in the evening, then getting up, getting dressed, a vampire not minding the cold at all, saying hello to the initiates, then off to find Nazir and Astrid to collect a few contracts, then maybe out to either feed, gather more ingredients, set out on a job or some mix of all three.

She was not used to being woken up by Cicero pouncing on her.

“Hello Babette!” Cicero cooed. “Wakey wakey, rise and shine!”

Babette bit back the most unsisterly things that were her first thoughts and focused instead on her second, namely what on Nirn was Cicero even doing here? Wasn't he supposed to be the guest of honour at that Liberation Day thing they were having in Markarth? Astrid had even been considering going, but decided at length not to – Maven would recognise her if no one else, and it might be a little awkward making polite conversation with someone she might later have to either negotiate a contract with or kill. So Dawnstar's assassins had stayed put and left the Reach lot to it. 

Except now the Jester Dragonborn was here, looking a little dishevelled, eyes rather bloodshot and in dire need of a shave but definitely, undisputably here.

“Cicero,” Babette sighed. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Cicero waved a letter in front of her eyes, too fast for even a vampire to see it. 

“Listener needs you!” Cicero cooed. “Listener sent orders, she did! Come, come, you must, you must! Get up, get up, get moving, we must not keep our beloved Listener waiting, must we, hmm?” He slid off her, folding his arms, waiting expectantly and seeming to overlook the fact she was still in her night gown and would need to get changed. Fortunately, Cicero's arrival hadn't gone entirely unnoticed by the rest of the Sanctuary and he'd left the bedroom door open.

“Cicero. I heard you'd arrived. What are you doing bothering Babette?”

Astrid, Dawnstar Speaker, mostly loyal to Delphine, but Cicero had never forgiven her for attempting to wipe out the Karthspire cell early in its formation. Grin never leaving his face but getting that bit darker, he slid over to Astrid in one flowing motion, the coat tails of his black armour barely making a sound.

“Astrid,” Cicero purred, eyes flashing midnight black as he sidled too close to Astrid for anyone's comfort. “Always a pleasure.”

It was never a pleasure and they both knew it. But Astrid put up with Cicero and Cicero obeyed his Listener and the Night Mother in all things, and so no one had stabbed anyone. All the same, Cicero didn't show that expression often to people he wished to keep alive.

“You're in Babette's room while she's not even dressed yet, turning up unannounced and not even bothering to say hello to the rest of us,” Astrid scolded, eyes narrowed at him. “What am I to make of you harassing your sister, hmm? And aren't you supposed to be being the hero of the hour in Markarth?”

“Oh, that was yesterday,” Cicero shrugged. “Now the party is done and the Reach is nursing its hangover and some people are nursing grudges, oh yes! Here, here! Listener sends word! Listener has work! Special work! From the Reach-King. You know what that means.” Cicero's eyebrows flicked up and his face distorted in ghoulish pleasure at the prospect of a good stabbing for some poor bastard. Madanach wanted something doing, and when Madanach called in the Brotherhood, it usually meant something special. Difficult but likely interesting... and definitely well-paid. Astrid took the letter off him.

_“Astrid,_

_Sorry to bother you at such short notice, something has come up and we need Babette in Markarth as soon as possible. It's not exactly a contract, not yet anyway, but Madanach is asking nicely and offering coin. It's really quite the tale, so I've said yes._

_If you could send Babette back with Cicero and Odahviing as soon as you get this, I would appreciate it. You will of course get the usual Speaker's cut for this one._

_It's not Babette's alchemical skills we're after this time, it's actually related to vampirism. I'll explain more when she arrives, but let's just say she won't need to bring a vast amount of alchemy equipment._

_I apologise in advance for Cicero, he had quite the evening last night (as did we all) and is still feeling a little lively. I do hope he behaves._

_Delphine”_

Well, so far he'd snuck in without talking to anyone and been found hassling Babette, but at least he was here on official business rather than just to bother everyone.

“So you do have a reason for being here,” Astrid noted, passing the letter to Babette. “That's something. Cicero, while you are of course welcome here, it is customary to announce one's presence on arrival and make polite enquiries as to the availability of the one you wish to talk to. Not sneak in and be found leaping on their bed – honestly, Cicero, that's very ill-mannered even in the Reach.”

“It is likely to result in burns or frostbite in the Reach,” Cicero admitted, sly little grin on his face. “Oh but Cicero meant no harm! It is a matter of the utmost urgency! Cicero has no time for chitchat or polite conversation! Time is of the essence! Sweet Delphine needs Babette's services immediately, before anyone else dies!”

“Anyone else – you mean someone got killed last night? At Liberation Day?” Astrid exchanged glances with Babette, now fully awake and reaching for a shawl as she got out of bed. “Now I'm beginning to regret not having gone. Who died, and what did Madanach do to the poor fool who showed him up on his special day? Or is that why you need Babette?”

“I'm always willing to help punish the unworthy, you know that,” Babette grinned, sidling to Cicero's side. “I have several poisons just begging to be tested, to cause, prolong or enhance pain, or turn the slightest sensation to blissful agony.”

“Hee!” Cicero squealed, cheeks flushing pink. “Delightful! But no, no, Cicero doesn't think it is for torture. The dead man is Thane Erikur of Solitude, but Madanach can't stand him and even pretty Elisif is not exactly grieving. The killer is in custody but Cicero doesn't think torture is planned, oh no. Listener seems to think something more is going on but would not say what. Only that she needs Babette to come quick, she did! Come, come, you must come with Cicero, you must!”

Cicero had Babette's arm by this point, about ready to haul the little vampire out as she was, so eager was he to see Delphine's orders carried out. Astrid gritted her teeth and raised her voice a little.

“ _Cicero._ Babette is more than willing to come, I'm sure, but she can hardly go all the way to Markarth dressed like that. Even Madanach's court, relaxed though it may be, will not let people come before the Reach-King in their nightwear, and even a vampire can hardly go out riding on a dragon dressed like that. She's not even wearing shoes, look.”

Cicero did glance down at Babette's feet then, letting go of her arm and giggling.

“Oh yes. Of course, of course! Foolish Cicero!” Cicero grinned at Astrid, not quite as murderously this time, before skipping for the door. 

“Cicero shall wait! In the kitchen! Being no trouble! Perhaps he shall talk to Nazir or one of Astrid's new initiates, or... Cicero shall be waiting. Make haste, make haste! You don't want to risk missing another brutal murder in Markarth!”

There was going to be a brutal murder in Dawnstar if someone didn't start behaving soon, but mercifully Cicero had skipped out of the room, singing softly to himself as he went. Astrid wondered if it was a good thing or not that Arnbjorn was out on a job that night. Cicero was a demented little maniac at the best of times and Astrid would feel a lot happier with her husband around to keep an eye on the little freak. Still, at least this time Cicero seemed keen to be on his way, which was great unless you were Babette. 

“Are you all right?” Astrid asked softly, placing a protective arm around Babette. Several centuries older than her Babette might be but Astrid was still Sanctuary leader and still felt the need to look after her people. “I didn't know the little lunatic was here until one of the initiates told me there was a dragon just lounging by the lighthouse, and it had said hello and called him Zeymah. Then I heard Cicero shrieking in your room. Are you going to be all right going with him?”

“I'm sure I'll be fine,” Babette said, giving Astrid a hug. Babette wasn't naturally a tactile person but she'd always been close to Astrid. “Don't worry. That's definitely Delphine's handwriting and I don't think anyone forging it would have thought to include that detail at the end about Cicero. I'm more intrigued about what's been going on in Markarth. A Thane murdered during a Reachman festival? Do you think it was a fight got out of hand or some sort of sacrifice to the old gods?”

Astrid really couldn't say, although knowing Erikur, it was probably a spur of the moment killing caused by someone finally losing their patience. Erikur had had it coming for years and the only reason Maven hadn't asked for a contract was that it was too widely known she hated the man. All the same, this was the Reach. Ritual sacrifice could not be ruled out and an unpopular Nord nobleman would make an ideal victim. Why Madanach might want a vampire to assist with the aftermath though, Astrid couldn't even begin to fathom, but a job was a job, and the Mournful Throne always paid well.

“I honestly don't know, Babette. Just keep your wits about you, be professional as always and when you get back, be sure to tell me all about it.”

Babette promised she would, and Astrid left her to get dressed and pack. She just hoped Cicero hadn't wrecked her kitchen in the meantime.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Once Babette was finally packed and dressed and good to go, Cicero turned from pest to solicitous, cooing and bouncing ahead and offering to carry her things for her. And Odahviing was even more so, greeting her like an old friend and not minding at all that she had to scramble up his nose instead of climb onto his neck. But soon she was in place, with Cicero sitting behind her, arm round her to hold her in place and squealing as the dragon took off. 

Dragon flight wasn't an easy thing to get used to but Babette fared better than most. Vampires didn't get hypothermia after all. So Babette watched as Skyrim wheeled below her and the Druadachs loomed up in the distance, and Odahviing soared down the Karth river valley, swung past Karthspire and then over the mountains and down towards Markarth.

Banning's dogs started howling and it was just fortunate that the horses were in their stables for the night, and even the ReachGuard looked a bit wary, but Cicero hopped off and helped Babette down and Odahviing was gone in seconds, on his way back to Karthspire.

Despite the dust flurry and the breeze caused by dragon take-off, Cicero barely let up, ushering Babette away and towards the city gates, into Markarth and through the streets towards the looming edifice of Understone Keep. 

She could feel the wrong in the air at once. ReachGuard on edge. People on edge. The city being cleared up after a night of partying, but the citizens not looking particularly happy. Could be hangovers, but it could be fear, and it wasn't just the Nords either. Even the Reachmen looked worried, and when they passed the house, the shadowed one with the door roped off and two ReachGuard warriors on either side glaring at anyone who came too close...

“Cicero, what happened here?” Babette whispered, feeling her fangs starting to elongate and her vision sharpen as her nose smelt blood, fresh blood, less than a day old blood, still lingering in the air despite the ReachGuard scouring the visible evidence away.

“Someone died, dearest sister,” Cicero murmured, grip on her arm tightening as he steered her away. “Come, come, Listener will tell you more.”

Someone had died all right, and Babette could feel darkness prickling at the back of her neck. There was power here, something old and dark... and hungry. Hungry like she was if she hadn't fed in too long. A vampire? A really old vampire?

No. Something much much worse. The father of all vampires, some sort of connection with Coldharbour itself. Had someone been invoking Molag Bal??

Babette truly didn't know whether to approve or pity the poor fool. No wonder Delphine was calling her in. Madanach must be seething.

No sign of the man himself in the Keep, but there was movement in the shadows and then Delphine was there, clad in her dragonscale gear, Blades swords at her back. Cicero left Babette's side immediately, gliding over to Delphine and sweeping into a low bow as he dropped to his knees, heedless of the watching ReachGuard.

“Listener!” he murmured, head leaning into Delphine's hand as she stroked his hair. “Listener, Cicero has brought our sister for you! As you requested!”

“So I see!” Delphine purred, scritching Cicero behind the ears and patting his back. “Good boy. You did well. Go on, go back to our room and rest, you've earned it.”

Cicero did stop at that, questioning eyes looking up at Delphine. 

“What, now? Right now?”

“Yes, right now, or later if you're not tired yet. Did you want something to eat? Kitchen's still open.”

Cicero narrowed his eyes and scowled, or would have done if he hadn't yawned. Still scowling, he got up and bowed.

“Yes, Listener,” he sighed, before taking his leave, something clearly bothering him. Babette wondered what it was, before deciding it wasn't her problem. Delphine could deal with him later, she'd married him after all.

“Listener,” Babette said, dropping a little curtsey to her as Delphine turned back to her. Important to show respect to their leader after all, and Delphine was good at her job. Contracts were plentiful these days and without having to chase down leads, Dark Brothers and Sisters could spend more time on jobs. Delphine's network of contacts often came in handy there as well.

Delphine had been watching Cicero leave, frowning, but she turned back to Babette, smiling brightly.

“Babette, good to see you! I hope you had a good journey?”

“I did, thank you,” Babette said. “Cicero said something about someone dying in Markarth at the party? Does Madanach want someone killing in return?”

Delphine's face darkened as she shook her head. “Not exactly. It's not a kill, at least not yet. More of a... negotiation. And you're the only one I feel comfortable risking on this one. Make no mistake, this will be dangerous.”

“They always are,” Babette shrugged, falling into step behind her leader. “What's so different about this one?”

“Given our recent history, less than you might think,” Delphine said cryptically. She said nothing more until they reached Madanach's study, empty and dark, just the trophy heads leering down from the wall in the magelight. Delphine took a seat, indicating for Babette to do likewise.

“So who's the client?” Babette asked. “Who am I meeting?”

Hesitation in Delphine's eyes and it was then Babette realised this really wasn't an ordinary one.

“There's a shrine to Molag Bal in the city,” Delphine finally admitted. “Madanach used to sacrifice criminals to it. It was inactive for years after the city fell to Ulfric, but now it's active again. The house it's in had been sealed all this time but at the Liberation Day party, it opened again while two men were fighting outside. One threw the other inside, the door sealed behind them, and when it opened, we had one live Nord of the Reach and one very dead Thane Erikur.”

“Thane Erikur? Sithis,” Babette whispered, realising what must have happened, and just why Delphine had sent for her so quickly and why Madanach must be freaking out. “You mean Molag Bal came back and made them fight to the death??”

Delphine nodded, seeming pleased she'd realised so quickly. Well of course Babette had, she was a vampire of three hundred years, once the novelty had worn off, she'd got curious about where vampires came from and what it meant to be a vampire, so she'd done her research. She knew the first vampires had been women offered up or 'chosen' by Molag Bal, who'd risen from the aftermath of sexual violation as pure-blooded vampires. She knew all about what Molag Bal represented. And to think of a shrine to him here, claiming victims as it pleased...

“You want me to deal with the shrine?” she whispered, feeling a little intimidated. “Delphine, I'm an alchemist with a little magic on the side, I'm not a summoner! Doesn't Madanach have Hagravens who can deal with this?”

“Yes, but his Matriarch in chief is off trying to save Jarl Siddgeir's innards from melting – don't ask,” Delphine sighed. “Suffice it to say she won't be around for a few days and we need to do something now. Babette, I'm not expecting you to destroy the shrine... but I do need you to go in there and talk to it. Find out if it's still active, and if it is... what Molag Bal wants. Then come back and tell us.”

_Why me,_ Babette wanted to ask, but truth was, she knew. Molag Bal changed people, Molag Bal twisted people. Molag Bal turned the unambitious into power-hungry despots, turned good men into rapists, turned farmboys into warlords. Delphine and Madanach couldn't risk any of their people going bad, but they could send someone already a vampire, and a child at that. Babette might kill but she couldn't rape.

“I'll talk to him,” Babette promised. “But I can't guarantee an outcome. Delphine, what happens if he wants something we can't deliver?”

“Then we call Matriarch Keirine back and get her to banish the shrine back to Coldharbour,” Delphine said, shrugging. “But in the meantime, we stall for time and at least look like we're playing along. Well, are you willing?”

Frankly no, but Babette also guessed she didn't really have a choice. So she accepted the job and followed Delphine out, hoping her god-ancestor's plans for Markarth were something they could all live with.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Delphine returned to her guest bedroom, pleased how that had gone. Babette had gone to rest and prepare for what was likely to be arduous – who knew how a conversation with Molag Bal would go. Delphine would go herself, but she couldn't risk being made to fight her own people, or Madanach's. And she would never risk Cicero with this. Not after Solstheim.

She pushed the door open, solid Dwemer metal gliding silently open and magelights glimmering before her, illuminating Dwemer stonework but a bed with a straw mattress and fur blankets. One of Madanach's first acts after the siege and the treaty had been to place an order for an entire city's worth of straw, furs and mattresses for the Keep and barracks' beds. Apparently his people had not fought a twenty five year war and a lengthy siege against the Stormcloaks to end up with beds less comfy than those on a Forsworn camp.

On the bed was Cicero, but he wasn't sleeping. Wasn't even lying down. He was hunched on the bed, scowl marring otherwise handsome features, but when he saw her his expression softened, becoming rather more neutral.

“Listener,” Cicero murmured, sliding off the bed and getting to his feet. As always, he dropped to his knees and kissed her hand, head lowered. Delphine stroked his hair before stepping backwards, indicating for him to get up.

“Hey. Cicero.” A pause and did they talk this over or let it go? Hard to tell but a resentful Cicero was good for no one. So Delphine took the plunge.

“Do we need to talk?”

Cicero scowled and said nothing, folding his arms and glancing away. A yes then.

“Cicero,” Delphine sighed. “You're clearly annoyed about something. What is it? Is it something I did?”

“No,” Cicero muttered before shrugging. “Yes. Maybe. Listener, why isn't Cicero investigating the Thane's death?? Cicero can find things out! Cicero can do dangerous things! Why isn't Cicero going?” He looked most put out. Delphine stroked his face and smiled gently at him.

“Because Babette would be better at handling this one, Cicero,” Delphine murmured. “I'm not going to send anyone on any job if there's someone else available who would be better at it.”  
.  
“You are not sending me on _any_ jobs!!” Cicero cried and Delphine couldn't help but flinch back. Cicero was always a little frightening when he was angry, although he was rarely angry at her. “You have sent me to kill dragons and even then reluctantly! I have had no contracts at all! I have done more stabbing for Jorrvaskr than I have for you!” In the silence that followed, Cicero's scowl turned into a pout. 

“Listener, when did Cicero stop being good at stabbing things?” Cicero whispered, and Delphine honestly didn't know what to tell him. Of course he was skilled, of course she knew that. It wasn't his skills that worried her. It was his mind.

“You didn't,” Delphine whispered. “I just don't like you being in danger.”

Cicero laughed bitterly, shrugging his shoulders. “Life is dangerous. And short. Especially when we are involved! Listener, I don't fear death. Even before the silence came, life for an assassin was not a safe one. When you made your money, you retired and thanked the Night Mother for not calling you home quite yet. Cicero knows it is risky. Does Delphine not?”

“Of course I do, but you made your fortune and fame too!” Delphine cried. “Can't you retire and thank the Night Mother for everything?”

“No!” Cicero shouted. “Because Cicero isn't READY!”

Cicero's Thu'um shook the room, a tacit reminder that this assassin could breathe fire. Delphine remembered Esbern telling her she should let Cicero out more, a Dragonborn historically did not react well to being restrained and kept cooped up. And Delphine knew that, she did... but she couldn't bear the idea of seeing him hurt. Not since Solstheim.

It seemed Cicero's patience for remaining curled up by his Listener's side was at an end.

“Last time I sent you out on a truly dangerous mission, you came back broken!” Delphine cried. “You had nightmares for weeks! Sometimes you still do! And you were afraid to be away from me for long too. I've had letters from Kodlak too, worrying about you. That you're needier. Clingier. You run into Jorrvaskr and you're shaking all over and clinging on to him or Farkas or Ria or even Vilkas. You're even less fond of being alone than you ever were and you don't like seeing people leave to go on jobs – every time Ralof leaves, I have to peel you off him and you're all over anyone who returns. You think you're ready to start doing dangerous contracts again? Because I don't!”

Cicero stared back, clearly acknowledging the truth of all this... and yet he was shaking all over, clearly also unwilling to admit any of it.

“Listener,” Cicero whispered. “Listener, if I do not start taking risks again, if I do not start adventuring, if you do not trust me to leave and come back... Listener, if I do not do it now, I never will! Listener, please! Will you at least tell me what is going on with this one, Cicero knows nothing! Only that Erikur is dead at the hands of a mere boy who is not a killer. Cicero has seen Hreinn many times, been served drinks by him – he is no murderer! And yet Erikur is dead. And it has to do with that house and even the Forsworn do not want to talk about it. So there is something in there, something dark, something... dangerous! And you are sending Babette in to deal with it and not sweet Cicero.” Cicero scowled, definitely pouting now. “What is it, Listener? Cicero is capable of stabbing anything you tell him to, you know that!”

Delphine knew, but that wasn't the problem, was it? The problem was what a dangerous and powerful Daedra might do to him in the process.

“It's Molag Bal,” Delphine whispered, and that had the notable effect of shutting Cicero up completely.

“...oh,” was all that came out of Cicero's mouth and for a few moments there was nothing but an awkward silence as Cicero stared rather nervously back. It was Cicero who finally broke it.

“Listener, I do not think even Madanach can afford Molag Bal,” Cicero whispered and Delphine had to smile at that.

“I know, I told him that,” Delphine grinned. “Come on, sit down, I'll tell what I can.”

So he did and she told him. Not everything – the last thing Cicero needed to hear was about Madanach's deviant past. But she told him there'd been Molag Bal worship in the past in the Reach, and a shrine in the abandoned house... and the shrine had re-opened the house on its own and welcomed Erikur and Hreinn in, Hreinn emerging the victor but both having been forced to fight or die.

“So I told Madanach I'd investigate for him, find out what the shrine wants,” Delphine finished. “That's why I need Babette. She's a vampire already, there's no need for Molag Bal to corrupt her. And she's physically a child. She can't rape anyone. And if she does go bad... that's what I need you for.”

Cicero had drawn closer as she spoke, eyes wide and face solemn. She'd never had to order him to kill a Dark Brother or Sister. It had never come up. But it was part of his job description. Keeper of the Listener, of the Night Mother... and Keeper of the Night Mother's Peace. Enforcer of the Tenets. And if a Dark Brother or Sister ever went rogue or needed hunting... Cicero would be the one to do it. At the time he'd been... enthusiastic was the wrong word but he'd been solemn and insistent it was necessary, the Tenets would not be kept if there was no penalty. Now he might actually need to, he seemed a little nervous... but he nodded.

“Yes. If you think it necessary, Listener,” he said gravely. Delphine smiled and leaned over to kiss him. Much better. This was the Cicero she knew. Ready and prepared to do whatever the Brotherhood required.

“Let's hope it will not be,” Delphine murmured and Cicero did smile at that. 

“Just give the order, my Listener,” Cicero purred and Delphine lips met his, her hands on his cheeks to cup his face, and she indulged herself for a few precious moments before pushing him roughly back on to the bed, rather liking the excited little squeak he emitted as he fell back. As she climbed on top of an eager, reassured Cicero, arms open to welcome her, Delphine decided that, come what may, at least one thing was going right.


	8. House of Horrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Babette investigates the Abandoned House but what she finds will leave its mark even on one of Molag Bal's children as she comes face to face with her vampire ancestor-god. Meanwhile Madanach's relieved to find that the price demanded is as low as it is but what comes after may have... consequences. Meanwhile, someone else has demands as well, and Madanach's patience for dealing with them will be sorely tested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live! Life and creativity got a bit stuck but I'm still alive, and despite presently being at the Nine Worlds convention at Heathrow, I found my muse again and decided you deserved a chapter. (All right, I didn't write all this this weekend, but I was motivated to finish it, and that's the important thing.)
> 
> We've got Babette! Molag Bal! The plot thickening! Madanach veering from almighty Reach-King to woobie. And also Neloth reappearing. He did have a reason for showing up and now we find out what it is.
> 
> Warnings for some non-explicit M/M action. Also Molag Bal being creepy as fuck (unrelated to the sex). Spoilers for House of Horrors.

Night over Markarth. The city held its breath, as well it might. Two days now since the fateful Liberation Day party, since the Abandoned House had claimed a Nord Thane as its victim (and despite Hreinn still being in custody for now, much of the city still thought Erikur had had it coming, most being only surprised it was something this public and not a 'tragic accident').

Madanach had had the house cordoned off ever since, with the surliest non-Briarheart members of the ReachGuard he could find stationed on the door to discourage visitors. And a little before sunset, dozens more of his people had swept the streets, tersely ordering the market stallholders to close up and go home, closing the tavern and sending everyone on the entire Cragside of the city into their homes. No one really needed to ask why – it was common knowledge by this point that Madanach had hired in 'special agents', namely the Dragonborn and friends, to investigate. Which is why no one really resisted. Cicero's adventures were the stuff of epic, if bloody, legend, but were a bit like a thunderstorm in that it was best by far to observe from a distance. If Cicero and friends were investigating this one, no one wanted to see it close up.

Babette made her way out of the Keep, Delphine on one side, Cicero on the other, Argis at her back and Madanach's bodyguard Borkul leading the way. Madanach himself was back in the Keep, Kaie by his side and his guards on alert, and Babette had overheard murmured whispers over how to evacuate citizens in case of an emergency.

Madanach was worried, and Madanach was not a man who worried often.

Cicero looked grim, and was silent, and Cicero was neither of these things often. He was wearing his dragonscale armour and his new Dwemer crossbow, the Precious, was strapped to his back, and Babette was no fool. She'd only just avoided the last Purification by sheer luck and Cicero, a Cheydinhal Brother once, would know that story too. Brothers killing brothers... or sisters. Not because they wanted to but because duty required it. If this went wrong, if Babette emerged from that house in any state other than what she went in as, Cicero would be under orders to kill her... and he'd do it too. He'd regret the need, he'd mourn her passing... but he would do his duty.

And Delphine would let it happen. No, Delphine had likely already authorised it. Delphine's smile could not hide the sadness in her eyes. Another one who'd put the greater good above her own feelings if she had to.

But Babette didn't really have time to think about it. The house wasn't far from the Keep, and all too soon they were there, Dwemer door looming up in the shadowed underpass, two ReachGuard barring the way – but they stepped aside for Delphine.

“Well, this is it,” Delphine said, sounding falsely cheerful. Babette could always tell when people were faking. “Good luck, Babette. We'll see you when you come out. Just remember, be polite, but don't make any promises you can't keep. If Molag Bal really is in there in person, he'll know if you're lying.”

Not comforting. But Babette just nodded and reached for the door. Best to get this over with, right? 

Steeling herself, Babette pushed on the door and nodded as it inevitably swung open. Sealed for everyone else but it opened for her. Of course.

She stepped inside, only flinching a little as it slammed shut behind her. Whether the ReachGuard or Molag Bal's doing, she didn't know but the torches and hearth had flickered on by themselves, a strange mist hung heavy on the air, and the supposedly abandoned house was free of dust and cobwebs. Something was clearly at work here – and oh yes, one of the chairs was now levitating. Good stuff.

Babette made her way down through the house, winding staircase leading her on in the half-light, dim torches barely lighting the way but her vampire eyes making up for the rest. So far, so good, but the silence was starting to grate on her nerves. 

Through a kitchen, then to another set of sealed doors which did nothing at first as she tried to push them open... then as soon as she stepped away, they unlatched by themselves.

Babette swallowed nervously and stepped into the gloom. It looked like a cellar but the hovering barrels and old mead bottles told their own story. For a moment, Babette thought this was the end... but light from behind a set of shelves revealed a tunnel hacked into the rock, Dwemer gadgets studding the walls as the air cleared and the torches, lit by no mortal hand, blazed ahead of her.

Babette stood at the lip of the tunnel before slowly putting one foot in front of the other. Body of a child, helpless and small, such was her chosen demeanour, designed to lure unknowing prey in so she could feed at leisure. Designed for weaklings, fools and degenerates whose lusts made them careless. Molag Bal was none of these and he crushed the weak with not a second thought. That she was technically a child of his would make no difference. And she'd been chosen because of that weakness, because she could do no harm if he turned her. Chosen by a Listener who feared to come herself and would not risk her husband.

She should despise Delphine's weakness. But Babette served the Night Mother and Babette obeyed. So she plucked up her courage and followed the path.

It opened into a cavern, a jumble of stone, bedrock and Dwemer rubble, and in the middle, unmistakeable, a shrine to Molag Bal, with a rusty mace suspended above it, and definitely signs of recent activity here. Had someone been performing some sort of ritual here? And yet it didn't seem like one of Molag Bal's rites. No corpse parts and Babette didn't smell blood. Curious.

But the font on the shrine still had flowing... well, it wasn't any sort of blood Babette had ever tasted but it was definitely something like it. Still no sign of Bal himself. Babette drew nearer, stepping on to the altar's base and standing on her toes to peer into the font.

Spikes shot up around her, scything through the air and snapping together to form a cage that would slice the flesh of anyone trying to escape. Babette gasped, drawing her hand back just in time, staring around at the bars, wondering if this was automatic or if Molag Bal had been watching and waiting this whole time. She soon had her answer.

“Fool mortal! You trespass in this place and think yourself my equal! Why, you...” 

Babette didn't need to ask who the disembodied voice belonged to. Lord Molag Bal was here all right. About the only thing Babette hadn't worked out was why he'd paused.

“Why, you are not the boy. He triumphed over one who thought himself the stronger, whether by luck or skill I don't think even he knows, and then fled when I summoned him below. You are... well now. Isn't this interesting. You are one of my own get, a descendant of an offering I found worthy enough to claim and who was strong enough to survive it. And yet your sire left you with a form as weak as it is pathetic. Useless!”

Babette closed her eyes and let the abuse flow over her. She'd heard sneers from her fellow Dark Siblings before now – new ones, inexperienced ones who didn't know any better. They soon learned their lesson. Spreading her skirts, Babette dropped a curtsey, bowing her head to the Father of Vampires.

“Hello Father,” was all she said. Molag Bal barely even acknowledged the gesture, instead just laughing back in her face.

“Father? By accident, child. By accident. What use could one like you possibly be to me? Get back to your Night Mother, back to your trembling Listener and her broken fool, to my apostate Reach-King, and tell them to send someone who might actually prove a challenge.”

And yet the cage didn't move. Babette was stuck here. Or would have been had she not been an eternal ten year old. The midpoint of the spikes was about head-level for her and they weren't exactly close at the base. Babette bowed, dropped to her knees, and wriggled through the gap. Her dress tore on the edges but she did not bleed. Getting to her feet, she nodded at the shrine.

“I'll tell her that,” Babette said calmly. “Did you have anyone in mind?”

Silence and then the unexpected. Laughter. Molag Bal was laughing, laughing long and hard and sounding like he found the whole thing hilarious. When he spoke again, he sounded a lot less angry. Pleased in fact.

“Yes, I see it now. How you've survived so long. Deception and trickery. They think you weak and they are proved wrong. Hahaha, yes. I approve. Dagon would not. Boethiah certainly would not. But I don't care about methods. I only care about results. I _care_ that my altar, so long left untended, is desecrated in a city ruled by someone who once served me and he does _nothing!_ So I got his attention, and he sends you. Of course he does. He does not care to come before me and explain his apostasy in person.”

Babette elected to ignore the badmouthing of Madanach and cut to the chase. Molag Bal clearly wanted something specific.

“I'm very sorry to hear that, Father,” Babette said, keeping her voice steady with an effort. “Who's been desecrating your shrine? We're quite prepared to find them and sacrifice them if you like.”

Molag Bal actually chuckled and the spikes retracted. Babette didn't quite manage to hide the sigh of relief she felt as she realised Molag Bal was done throwing his weight around and was ready to negotiate.

“I do not just want him murdered, little assassin,” Molag Bal murmured. “I want his _submission._ I want him bent and broken on this altar before I claim his soul. His name is Logrolf the Wilful, and he's a priest of Boethiah, preaching at the Temple of the Reclamations at Deepwood Vale to the Dunmer living there... and when he's not there, coming here to Markarth to desecrate my altar with Boethiah's disgusting rites!”

“So you want me to lie in wait for him to return?” Babette asked, thinking this didn't sound too difficult. She could handle torture, and she had packed her personal grimoire. All she needed was a bit of time to brew something up, and she was sure Madanach's people had some suitably dangerous ingredients on hand.

“It is not that simple,” Molag Bal growled. “He's been missing. He preached against the old gods of the Reach, cleverly not naming any, but their Matriarch could not take that risk. She had him arrested for sedition, pending a hearing. Get him released. When he's free, he'll return. Lie in wait, and we shall destroy him together.”

Molag Bal fell silent and Babette promised it would be done before waiting for a response. None came and Babette realised she'd been dismissed. Trying not to show her relief, she turned and fled for the surface. Ask Madanach to release one troublemaking prisoner? This job couldn't be easier.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Staggering out of the house, moons in the sky, aurora blazing, magelights set up round the door to make sure nothing lurked in the shadows, and Babette collapsed to her knees, saying nothing as cries went up and then Delphine was there, holding her.

“Babette! Babette, talk to me, are you all right?”

Babette nodded, closing her eyes as diagnostic spells from the more senior ReachGuard flashed over her and one of them pronounced her clean. She certainly didn't feel it, but she let Delphine help her up, just about clinging on, and then Argis was there, scooping her up and carrying her back to the Keep as if she weighed nothing. Babette was aware of Delphine and Cicero following behind, Cicero whispering anxiously to Delphine and Delphine whispering back that Babette was likely fine and he didn't need to worry. He probably didn't, no. But Babette was out of there and Babette was alive, and Molag Bal apparently only wanted a desecrator punished, and that was fine with Babette.

And so it was Babette found herself carried into Madanach's private study, where the King of the Reach took one look at her and passed her a blood potion with Colovian Brandy mixed in.

Babette downed it in one and sat back, forever thankful and already feeling the buzz kicking in. She settled back into the Dwemer metal chair, complete with cushions in the red and silver Reach Kingdom livery, did her best to ignore the stuffed and mounted heads of Madanach's enemies staring down at her, and steeled herself for the debrief.

“So, what happened?” Madanach asked quietly. “Were you harmed? What did he want?”

“I'm fine,” Babette gasped, aware of Delphine's hand on her back and Cicero hovering nearby. “He just wanted your attention.”

Madanach raised an eyebrow, but his expression didn't look surprised. Cynical if anything. Certainly not afraid or worried about displeasing a god.

“Well, he has it,” Madanach said, shrugging. “I take it he had a reason. Molag Bal's not the capricious, game-playing type. He's a very straightforward god.”

“And not a fan of Boethiah,” Babette said, trying to recall everything Molag Bal had told her. “One of her priests is preaching in Hag's End, or was. The Matriarch arrested him for preaching sedition against the old gods of the Reach.”

Madanach did sit up at this, clearly recognising the man. “Logrolf,” he growled. “Yeah, I had the reports. Keirine was concerned it was only a matter of time before he started revealing the names. Hircine and Dibella, I could live with. The others... not so much.”

Babette could imagine that everyone knowing for definite that the Forsworn also venerated the Daedra of Decay, Pestilence and Domination, in addition to the Aedra of Beauty and the Daedra of the Hunt, would cause a few problems. The Temple of Sithis had been enough for most, and that had only been put up with due to Delphine going through Astrid's records and records from the old Cheydinhal Sanctuary and contacting former clients in positions of influence to ensure their support.

“So, looks like it's a job for us then,” Delphine said thoughtfully. “How did you want me to handle it?”

“No!” Babette cried, starting and sitting up. “No, we can't assassinate him! Molag Bal wants to hurt and humiliate him personally first!”

“He what?” Delphine gasped, while Cicero emitted an outraged squeak, and Madanach... Madanach just laughed.

“Of course he does,” Madanach laughed. “Where's the fun in just killing the fucker? All right, Bal can have his little game if he wants. What exactly did Logrolf do? Takes more than a bit of preaching to incur Molag Bal's wrath.”

“He was able to unseal the house and sneak in. He's been desecrating the shrine,” Babette explained. “But Molag Bal couldn't sort him out on his own, and not at all now you arrested him. He wants you to release him, so he can come back and start doing Boethiah's rites again... and he wants me to lie in wait and deal with him when he arrives.”

“Babette...” Delphine began, and Cicero could be heard whispering 'let me, let me, let me!' Babette ignored both, staring back at Madanach, whose silver eyes didn't give a lot away... but he did nod.

“All right. I'll send the orders, get him released. I imagine it'll take a few days to sort out but I think we can have him here within the week. You're welcome to stay here in the meantime, Babette. And... thank you for doing this. I know it's not exactly the usual line of work but I do appreciate it.”

“Oh don't mention it,” Babette replied, her nerves finally feeling a little less fraught now she was out of there. “It's not conventional, but it's still sort of a contract? Except with an unusual client.”

“Ha! Yes, that's one way of putting it,” Madanach laughed. “All the same, thank you. Not many could have taken on Molag Bal and survived. I'll make sure you get compensated well for this, no matter what happens.”

Babette nodded her thanks, and Delphine led her out, promising a comfy, dark room to herself and anything else she wanted.

_A life free of Molag Bal,_ was Babette's first thought. Ironic for a vampire... but Babette had seen the Father of Vampires for herself, and while she still didn't want a cure, she wished she could put herself up for adoption.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Well, that had turned out well in the end. Molag Bal just wanted a desecrator punished, and Madanach had no problem with having this particular turbulent priest disposed of. Better still, it would be done without witnesses, in such a way as to cast no blame on Madanach himself. All he had to do was to order Logrolf freed and wait. It couldn't have gone any better. 

Of course, it remained to be seen how Keirine handled all this – he'd already had one irate letter from her calling him an imbecile for ever joining that cult in the first place. But he didn't think she cared enough about Logrolf to question an order to release him.

He just had to call on Nepos now, tell him everything and get him to draft the orders. He'd know what to say. He always did.

So it was that at not quite 10pm, Madanach was surprised when the guards on Nepos's door actually barred his way. They looked nervous and apologetic, but barring _his_ way?? In his own Keep? Madanach stood back and folded his arms, narrowing his eyes and hoping they had a good explanation for this.

“We're sorry, sir,” one said. “Steward's orders, sir.”

“Steward's orders,” Madanach repeated, eyes boring into him. “I see. Nepos ordered you not to let anyone in, and you think any order he gives you applies to me, is that it?”

“No!” the guard cried. “I mean, no sir, but, er, we didn't think you'd want to...”

“You don't want to go in there,” the other guard said vehemently. “I mean, he put Muffle charms up and everything but it doesn't stop us _knowing._ ”

Muffle charms?? Who the fuck other than horny teenagers and young lovers bothered with... oh. Oh good gods, no. Madanach waved his hand and watched the silencing spells glimmer in response. The guards weren't lying.

Steeling himself, Madanach gritted his teeth and undid the spells. The first thing he heard was a low moan and his steward gasping “Neloth, you magnificent _beast!_ ”

Madanach stared at the door, slowly lowering his hand, wishing he could unhear this, wishing his mind would just stop with the mental images, and the guards apologetically telling him they tried to warn him didn't help.

Closing his eyes, Madanach knocked sharply on the door.

Silence. A very definite pause, and then Nepos, sounding slightly more normal, if a little breathless.

“It is rather late at night for a social call, and I distinctly recall the guards being instructed to turn away all visitors.”

Which worked very well on most of the court, even his daughters, but unfortunately, the one member of the court that didn't work on was Madanach.

“Well I told them otherwise,” Madanach snapped. “Nepos, you have thirty seconds to get dressed, get that room presentable, and get your _friend_ out of there before I walk in anyway.”

Silence before Nepos spoke again, formal court demeanour utterly gone.

“Oh good heavens... yes, Madanach, I'll be right with you!”

“Azura's sake, why bother, let him take us as he finds us. _I_ have nothing to be ashamed of,” the insufferable Dunmer wizard purred, and damn it, Madanach knew he'd missed something. Neloth had turned up for the party, been led off by Nepos, and he'd seen neither hide nor hair of them since, and with the whole Molag Bal crisis going on and no court business, he'd been too busy to think to summon his steward. Delphine and Kaie had been his left and right hands, so he'd let Nepos be. A mistake, it turned out.

“I don't care, just... here, put your robe on!” The sound of a bundle of cloth being thrown, and Madanach did have to smirk at that. Not often he got to see Nepos flustered.

“Twenty seconds!” he called out, trying to keep the chuckle out of his voice. There was scuffling and at least one telekinesis spell. Madanach grinned to himself and charitably waited longer than the allotted time before pushing the door open. 

The clothes at least had been gathered up and tidied away, and the furniture was mostly in place, and if there'd been any implements used, they'd all been shut away in the actual bedroom or a chest or something.

Neloth had at least put on a robe and was lounging in a chair in the corner, and Nepos had gone so far as to hastily fling on some actual clothes... it was just a pity they weren't fastened properly and that Nepos hadn't had time to sort any trousers out. Madanach silently thanked the old gods for knee-length tunics.

“Nepos,” Madanach greeted him. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“Yes,” Neloth cut in tersely. “I find the first mind halfway capable of keeping up with me in two centuries, and no sooner have I started getting to know him, than people like you keep interrupting!”

“This is my Keep,” Madanach growled, really not in the mood for Neloth right now. “I can go where I like, and if I wish to call on my steward, I will! Also no one's seen the pair of you for two days. Neloth, if you came here for the party, you've missed the thing.”

Neloth shrugged.

“That? That was merely an excuse to visit, a tiresome social convention which I felt bound to honour, seeing as I was here. No, my actual business involved an enquiry of an arcane nature. I sent an apprentice of mine some months ago to make contact with yourself or that... Hag's End Institute, is it? Typically, the girl never reported back. So, seeing as she's utterly failed in her duty, I decided I had no choice but to come in person.”

“Well, she didn't come to Markarth,” Madanach sighed, growing weary of the damned elf already. “I can ask Keirine if she's heard of her. And as for your request, ask me in the morning and I'll consider it.”

“I would, but you've not been holding court of late and the way I hear it, you're heading north for Solitude soon,” Neloth replied, glaring. “So I will take my chances where I find them. Unless you'd rather I followed you to Solitude and made the request there in front of the High Queen of Skyrim and her court?”

Good gods, no.

“Fine. Spit it out,” Madanach growled. “But make it quick, I'm a busy man.”

“I can tell,” Neloth drawled. “Well, I've been doing research on binding heartstone – are you familiar with heartstone? It's a mineral with magical properties found on Solstheim...”

“I'm aware,” Madanach said curtly, but it had caught his interest. Cicero had brought a few samples of the pretty, shiny ore back with him, and it had intrigued Madanach and indeed Calcelmo, enough for him to buy a sample off Cicero for experimentation. They could use more though, and trying to import it from Morrowind was so far proving a headache. There'd need to be bribes, tariffs, not to mention the cost of the mineral itself, and honestly he was this close to just paying Delphine to get some smuggled in.

“Good, it makes explaining this so much easier,” Neloth said, appearing to brighten up. “You see, I was looking into removing my own heart and replacing it with a heart stone variant to enhance my magical abilities, but when I tried the procedure on one of my apprentices, it went wrong. The effects weren't as anticipated. The apprentice in question went mad from pain, it all ended badly, and I ended up having to call in your friends in the Dark Brotherhood to come and deal with the problem. Which they did, but that doesn't help with what went wrong in the first place.”

“What did go wrong in the first place?” Madanach asked, but he had a feeling he knew where this was going, knew as soon as Neloth had mention removing his _own heart_ and replacing it with a magical artefact why Neloth might have come to the Reach for help.

“Something in the binding,” Neloth admitted. “It didn't work properly. I bound the heart three times with magicka and inserted it but Ildari just screamed in pain and... I don't know. I thought she'd died and had her buried but she... came back. The heart stone stopped her dying. She broke out of the tomb and started a campaign of revenge against me, swearing the voices of the ash bones were telling her to. The apprentices I sent after her to find out what was going on barely escaped with their lives. That's when I called the Dark Brotherhood in to deal with Ildari. Which they did, and one of them was a Reachwoman called Eola. She made some chance remark about it being a good thing Briarhearts didn't do that sort of thing, and that reminded me you people do that exact thing with your mightiest warriors, having your hearts removed and replaced with those Briar Hearts. I'd tried hiring the Companions and the Brotherhood before to obtain a heart but they both declined to fetch me one on the grounds the Reachmen weren't outlaws any more but respectable citizens with their own country, and that the Companions weren't willing to break the law and the Brotherhood really didn't want to get on your bad side for some reason. So in the end, Liriel volunteered to go sign up with Hag's End and see if she could learn the ritual, and never came back. Which is why I had no option left but to come in person.” 

Liriel, Liriel, Madanach knew that name... wait. Surely not...

“Liriel's your apprentice,” Madanach interrupted. “Liriel who is now missing. Was she an Altmer by any chance? Young woman, red hair?”

“Yes, that's her,” Neloth said, raising an eyebrow. “Madanach, my good man, you said earlier you'd not encountered her.”

“I haven't,” Madanach said, already feeling his heart sink. “Not personally. But her kin are in Skyrim searching for her, she disappeared from Cyrodiil in Last Seed of 201.”

“Yes, she arrived in Tel Mithryn near the end of 201, not willing to talk about where she'd come from but keen to learn and undeniably talented so I took her on,” Neloth mused. “Fascinating... but I've not seen her in weeks, I'm afraid. I'm keen to know where she is just as much as they are.”

Madanach doubted that, but he couldn't deny that this revelation would prove very interesting to the Thalmor Ambassador... but also troubling if Liriel had been confirmed alive and in Morrowind until recently, and then vanished while on her way to the Reach. Keirine didn't routinely send him the names of all her students though. It would be worth asking his sister if Liriel had actually made it. 

But first things first, Neloth.

“I'll make enquiries,” Madanach promised. “But as to your other request – Master Neloth, the Briar Heart ritual is a key component of the Reach's military capability. We survived as a rebel faction for decades due to having warriors willing to undergo the rite and exclusive knowledge of how to perform it. You can't expect me to just teach it to you so you can use it for your own purposes. Also, performing it on _yourself??_ ”

“Why not?” Neloth asked, frowning. “I assure you, I've developed techniques for pain control throughout.”

Madanach could believe it. He glanced at Nepos, wondering how he was taking this and was gratified that his steward, who'd been observing quietly throughout, at least looked a bit concerned.

“Neloth, this is quite major surgery, I really don't think this is a good idea,” Nepos began nervously. “Also everyone who undergoes the Briar Heart ritual emerges changed. Most return as avatars of vengeance, pitiless warriors who retain little of their original personality or emotions. I know of only one exception and that was an unusual circumstance.”

“Because I did the ritual myself, and I wasn't summoning back or binding a warrior, I wanted my son back,” Madanach growled. “And I mostly got him but he's not exactly the same. His personality's still intact, but his love for me's transmuted into obsession. He doesn't like being far from me and definitely doesn't like it when I travel to Solitude without him. He's worried something might happen, terrified almost. I... well, I don't want to talk about the details but Neloth, if you do this, you will not be the same man, and if you're fool enough to try it yourself, you're more likely to die horribly than anything else.”

“Oh, what's life without a little risk?” Neloth shrugged, before appraising Madanach, sly look in his eyes. “So, is that a yes?”

A yes? A yes, after all Madanach had explained about the ritual's consequences and the fact that Reach security relied on it? Neloth was truly deluded if he thought this was a good idea.

“Fuck no,” Madanach snapped. “I'm not sharing the ritual with outsiders. Give me something worth my while in exchange, and perhaps I will think about it. Better yet, have one of our Matriarchs perform it on you, submit yourself to the authority of one of them. That, I'll allow.”

Nepos had actually gasped at this, reaching for Neloth's arm.

“Neloth, don't do it, it's not worth the cost,” Nepos whispered. Neloth, far from being put off, looked fascinated.

“Really? You'd implant a heart stone for me?” Neloth purred. “Or... no, I suppose it would be one of your Briar Hearts, wouldn't it? The lore does say the ritual binds you to the bones of the earth of where you are. I was looking at Heart Stone because it was at hand in Solstheim, but a Briar of the Reach would work. I suppose this country is tolerably pretty. Fresh mountain air and all that. There are worse places to be bound to.”

“Neloth!” Nepos gasped, horrified. “Neloth, you can't... don't do it!”

Neloth turned to Nepos, raising an eyebrow, although his actual expression was difficult to see in the shadows of the hearth fire.

“You're not keen? I thought you'd enjoy having me around!”

“Yes but not like that!” Nepos cried. “The only emotion a Briarheart feels is rage and vengeance!”

“Only when you're bringing back a warrior to fight for the Reach,” Neloth replied, unperturbed. “His son came back almost normal. If someone who cared about me were to do the rite, I'm sure I'd be just fine.” He was looking very meaningfully at Nepos at this point, and Nepos had never been a fool.

“I'm not a Matriarch!” Nepos cried. “I don't know the ritual! I'm a mage, yes, but I don't have that sort of power!”

“He's not a Matriarch either, he managed it,” Neloth pointed out, nodding at Madanach. 

“He's hardly a typical Reachman, he always was a prodigy and his sister taught him all sorts of things normal men shouldn't know!” Nepos cried. “There's a reason he's king!”

“I'm sure there is,” Neloth purred, and the elf really wasn't doing himself any favours by this point. Madanach growled, narrowing his eyes.

“There is,” Madanach snapped. “Now if you don't mind, I need a private word with my steward so if you could give us some privacy, I would very much appreciate it!”

Neloth huffed but did gather his Telvanni robes and take himself into Nepos's bedroom, door closing behind him. Madanach flung up some Muffle charms for good measure, taking care to weave in a frost rune that would detonate if anyone but him removed them. Only then did he sit down at Nepos's table, inviting his old friend to join him.

Nepos did so, looking older than his years and utterly disheartened as Madanach poured jenever for them both.

“What have you done, Madanach?” Nepos said softly.

“Me?” Madanach said, surprised. “Neloth's the one who wants his heart ripped out and augmented with a Briar Heart. He can go home tomorrow and live a full and happy life if he wants. I'm not forcing this on him.”

“I know, but...!” Nepos sighed. “Damn it, Madanach, you could have just said no!”

“I could,” Madanach replied. “But he'd have kept trying to get it one way or another. I offer him this, he'll take the deal and then we have a master Telvanni wizard tied to us. Specifically, to you if he insists on you doing it. Which means I suppose I need to teach you the ritual, don't I?”

Nepos closed his eyes, still despairing, as well he might. Nepos might not know the ritual but he'd been privy to Madanach's thoughts and feelings after he'd brought Argis back with it. He knew the consequences as well as anyone.

“If the subject isn't bound to the caster properly, the voices of the Earth Bones will drive them mad,” Nepos said quietly. “That's clearly what happened to Ildari, because Neloth didn't think to include the binding elements our Matriarchs use. And if the caster dies, the resulting disconnect will cause the subject to go wild in his fury unless he's rebound swiftly. Which is not a problem because a Matriarch can live for centuries, and we've got protocols for immobilising a Briarheart until he can be linked to another one. But Madanach, I'm an old man! I don't know how many years I've got left! I could be dead in five years or less, and then what?? Neloth loses control and wreaks magical havoc across the Reach, and it's going to take everything you, Keirine and Delphine have at your disposal to stop him, and who knows what damage he does in the meantime??”

“Not if we have Keirine on hand to rebind him,” Madanach said quietly. “She's already agreed to do the same for Argis.”

Nepos didn't say anything else. They'd discussed that particular issue months before, and while the rebinding would hopefully stop Argis destroying anything, Keirine had raised concerns that rebinding him to her might also change him into one of the more common Briarhearts, a grim warrior and not Madanach's beloved son. Or into something different anyway. Madanach grieved at the possibility but at least he would not be alive to see the change.

“If I told him all this, he'd likely not be talked out of it, would he?” Nepos sighed. Madanach shook his head.

“I doubt it,” Madanach said. “What's he to you, anyway? You've known him all of three days.”

“I know,” Nepos said, finally allowing himself a smile. “But he's... there's something about him, Madanach. And take that look off your face, it's not just sex. He's a good conversationalist and a fascinating, fascinating man. We talked and talked and talked about all sorts of things, and... oh I don't know, I just enjoy his company! He's so unlike anyone I've ever met. It just seems such a waste to change all that by giving him the Briar. But he won't hear of anything else.”

The pout Nepos gave him wasn't completely wasted on Madanach, who reached out and patted Nepos's arm. 

“Well, you tell him about all the risks and complications, and maybe he'll change his mind,” Madanach told him. “If anyone can do it, it might just be you.”

“Maybe,” Nepos said quietly but he didn't look hopeful. Downing a shot of jenever, Nepos shivered and looked up at Madanach, forcing misery behind his more usual professional face. “So, you had a reason for coming down here at this time of night instead of cuddling up with your lovely wife. What was it? Nothing important, I hope?”

“Elisif's in Solitude,” Madanach told him, watching Nepos's eyebrows shoot up. “No, it's not like that, we didn't argue exactly and I'm joining her in a few days, but it just seemed safer.” Madanach proceeded to describe the events of the last few days to Nepos, leaving nothing out, because if anyone understood about Madanach's past, it was Nepos.

“So we need to write to Keirine and tell her to release Logrolf, and she's already pissed off over all this. Well, you know, she never wanted me to join it in the first place.”

Nepos did know, he'd been the one to have an angry teenage girl raging at him over her brother's choices.

“You think she might not agree to release him,” Nepos said softly. Madanach nodded, knowing that while in theory she was bound to obey her King, the relationship between chiefs and Matriarchs had always been more one of equals in which a Matriarch obeyed but the chief took care not to give her any orders she wouldn't want to follow.

“She'll want me to get rid of the shrine,” Madanach said quietly. “Or hand it over to her. Which I can do but... am I doing the right thing? Should I be afraid? What if Bal objects, what if he hurts Elisif, what if...”

“Hush, bion,” Nepos breathed, reaching out a hand, and while now, in public, Madanach was King and Nepos served loyally, there had been a time when those roles had been very different, and as Nepos's hand touched Madanach's throat, fingers curling gently around Madanach's neck, Madanach lowered his head and closed his eyes, saying nothing.

“It will be all right,” Nepos whispered. “You are better protected than you think. The Bride of Sithis herself thought to warn Cicero to return home because you and the kingdom were in trouble. I think she might act to protect you from Bal too. Give Bal what he wants then deconsecrate the shrine, banish it back to Oblivion. You can do it.”

Madanach knew he could. It took blood magic to banish a Daedric shrine, but he did know blood magic and a king's blood was worth more than an ordinary mortal's. It was Bal's reaction when he found out that concerned him.

“It's the last shrine, Nepos,” Madanach whispered. “You and I are the last living cultists. We do this, he won't be an Old God of the Reach any more. Are you sure you're all right with this?”

Madanach glanced up at this, eyes meeting Nepos's and he was surprised to see the sadness there. Nepos nodded without even hesitating.

“Yes,” Nepos said. “I grew tired of war years ago and looking back at all the death, all the wasted years, all the wasted _life_... All the war and blood and who gave us victory in the end? A diplomatic agreement brokered by the ap Sithisai. Molag Bal was not the one who gave us victory and peace. Sithis's children and Dibella's skills are what saved us. So yes, cast him out. The Reach doesn't need him, not any more.”

“Nepos, what-” Madanach whispered, but Nepos let him go, placing a finger to his lips.

“We were wrong,” Nepos said quietly. “You should have listened to Keirine all those years ago. No doubt she'll be gratified by the admission. Gratified enough to give you what you ask for at any rate.”

Madanach nodded, suddenly feeling a little emotional, and now it was Nepos's turn to pour him a drink.

“Come on, old friend,” Nepos said, seeming to cheer up a little now all that was settled. “Let's draft a letter to your sister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nepos and Neloth, a pairing predestined by the names. Madanach will definitely regret these two meeting. ;)


	9. Children of Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kodlak doesn't trust Madanach and as the truth of the job he's been asked to do becomes clear, he finds his mistrust confirmed in full. Meanwhile Madanach has problems of his own, namely Molag Bal, and while he's got a plan, that doesn't mean he has no regrets. Not to mention that Molag Bal has other worshippers with their own agenda... and they have the Reach and its unlikely Dragonborn hero in their sights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this one is the wrapping up of part one, the end of the prelude to the Dawnguard questline. Yeah, nine whole chapters and longer than I care to think about to get here, but we're here. After this, the Dawnguard questline can start. Exciting isn't it? As it is, this one wraps up both House of Horrors and the Only Cure quests before bringing in the Volkihars. Warnings for violence, death, the brutal tortore of Logrolf, blood magic and Madanach really not being a nice man.

Hours later and the job was done. Orchendor was dead, and Kodlak was exhausted. It had been Vilkas whose sword had severed Orchendor's head from his shoulders, with Eola's magic pinning him into a corner, and Kodlak had forced a smile and congratulated Vilkas on a job well done. Let the dishonour fall on his shoulders alone.

They'd made their way back to Markarth in silence, Eola excusing herself once inside the Keep to go have a bath then track Cicero down. Farkas and Vilkas went to do likewise, and Kodlak took the time to at least clean his armour before confronting Madanach.

The man was in his study, heads of Nords who'd crossed him staring down from the walls, and in the corner, the artefact that had made him realise just what he'd got himself into. A small shrine to Peryite, identical to the last detail to the ones he'd seen in Bthardamz.

Madanach glanced up from the letter he'd been writing, pushing those wire and glass optics of his up onto the top of his head.

“Harbinger,” Madanach growled. “Job done, I hope.” 

“It's done,” Kodlak snapped. “But don't insult my intelligence, Madanach. You're a Peryite worshipper yourself! I recognise the shrine!”

Madanach tilted his head, before turning to glance at the shrine behind him, slight smile on his face.

“Yeah,” he said, not a trace of shame on his face. “You deal with all the admin I have to on a daily basis, you would also be lighting a candle to the Divine Taskmaster.”

“I assure you, I would do no such thing!” Kodlak shouted at him. “You... did you know Orchendor was working on a cure??”

Madanach barely even reacted, just shrugging. 

“No. Although that would explain why Peryite wanted him dead,” Madanach remarked. “Peryite sends a disease into the world, he tends not to react well when people start trying to eradicate it.”

“They were innocent people, Madanach!” Kodlak roared at him. “They'd just had the misfortune to get sick at the hands of the Daedra of Pestilence, and you had me kill them all!”

“Which you did admirably, so thank you,” Madanach replied, apparently unfazed by any concern for innocent lives. “Saved me paying Delphine's rates too. I'll make sure your payment's sent to Jorrvaskr, might even get a little bonus if Peryite's pleased.”

“I do not want a bonus!” Kodlak growled, feeling the beast within growling, and he was this close to just transforming and ripping Madanach's head off, werewolf cure be damned, in fact he could feel the change starting...

Madanach's eyes widened slightly, and then a small sliver of metal appeared in his left hand, carving into the palm of his right, beads of blood dribbling out and then Madanach was casting some sort of spell that glowed with a red light... and the change stopped. Kodlak was forced back into human form again, beast form there but somehow... inaccessible. He tried to demand answers off Madanach, but found to his horror that he was frozen solid, not just unable to change, but unable to move or speak. Madanach the Witch-King had some way of stopping the change, taking control of Kodlak's very blood somehow. Kodlak had heard of blood magic, but he'd never yet encountered it before. It was said to be a rare and dangerous art practiced by few due to the cost being too high for most. Trust the damn witchmen to have a handle on it.

“I really don't like using blood magic, but you leave me little choice,” Madanach sighed, sounding rather bored of the whole conversation and not at all like a man presently wielding dark magic on another human being. “Now, I have Argis on the way to this room right now, and you will be under this spell until he arrives. When he does, I strongly suggest you don't attack me in front of him. He will not react well, and he's a match for a werewolf.”

 _Because you subjected your own son to the Briar Heart ritual, you bastard._ But Kodlak couldn't fight the spell, couldn't fight off whatever Madanach was doing to his very blood. Damn witchmen – he knew from the start accepting Madanach's help had been a mistake.

“Now, seeing as you're Cicero's father and I do rather owe him, I won't actually be killing you for trying to attack me, not this time anyway,” Madanach continued. “I'll send your payment to Jorrvaskr in the next two weeks, as promised for a job well done. And then I'll make the arrangements with Keirine to sort that cure out, and for a suitable drop-off for the heads of Glenmoril Coven – I presume you won't have a problem with killing _them?_ ” Madanach didn't even bother hiding the sarcasm, and he seemed to take Kodlak's assent as a given. “Good. And then we'll cure your beast blood and you can go back to Jorrvaskr, and we need never see each other again. That sound good to you?”

That last part at least was something Kodlak could agree on, and as the door opened and Argis the Bulwark strode in, icy glare turned on Kodlak, Madanach released the spell, wincing as he poured Restoration magic into his hand and reached for a cloth.

“You all right?” Argis asked, alarmed as he saw the blood pooling on the floor.

“Yeah,” Madanach growled, sitting down and looking a lot paler than he had done previously, and Kodlak made a mental note that blood magic clearly exacted a price on the caster's health. “Negotiations just got a little heated, that's all – bion, stop that, I'll be fine.”

“You'd better be,” Argis snarled, face twisting into an enraged parody of his usual expression as he turned his attention back to Kodlak. “Admorin, you make one move towards him and I rip your head off, I mean it. I don't care whose father you are.”

Kodlak had a feeling Argis might change his mind if Cicero were to learn Argis had killed him, but he said nothing to Argis, just nodding.

“Hold your end of the bargain up and there will be no further issues,” Kodlak snapped. “But after that, we are done. Jorrvaskr will have nothing further to do with the Reach.”

“Fine by me,” Madanach shrugged. “Argis, see the Harbinger back to his room, in one piece and unharmed if you please. Neither of us need Cicero shrieking at us that we've damaged his father, and Kodlak does still have guest rights... for tonight. I imagine he'll be leaving in the morning.”

Kodlak didn't argue. This country was wrong in some fundamental way, he was sure of it, and the sooner he got home to a sane city, the better. Repressing a shudder at being close to a dead man walking, he took his leave and followed Argis out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“But whhhyyyyyy?” Cicero wailed on hearing his father was leaving already. “You have done the job, Cicero was hoping you could stay a few days, keep poor Cicero company! Cicero could show you the sights, buy you drinks in the Hag's Rest! Please stay! Pleeeeaaasssse! There is a New Life party planned! There shall be dancing!”

“I'm a little old for dancing,” Kodlak sighed as he packed his things into his backpack. Truth be told he was starting to get weary of Markarth in any case and longed for Jorrvaskr's comforts – but a little more time in his son's company might have been nice and Cicero's genuine sorrow at seeing him go tore at him. One thing to choose to leave but to be essentially forced out? Hard to bear, and even the knowledge that Madanach would have been well within his rights to execute him for losing himself to the beast in his keep didn't help much.

_He deserved it._

_He's King here! I can't just murder lawful rulers!_

_Lawful?? The man worships Daedra, knows blood magic, and just sent you to kill a base full of innocent people on Peryite's orders!_

_Yes. And your son murders for a living and would have done the job if not for the risk of contagion and lost no sleep over it, shall we kill him as well?_

Kodlak needed to get out of this country. Maybe this was for the best. He'd see Cicero soon in Jorrvaskr, right?

“Also the Reach-King's hospitality is nearing its limits,” Kodlak sighed, feeling a little of the truth was required to persuade Cicero let this one go. “You know he's no fan of Nord mercenaries. It's probably best I go home. Unless you were planning to offer hospitality at your own home.”

Cicero's smile faded and he laughed nervously.

“Er... Cicero doesn't that would be wise. Also Listener must consent. Listener likely will not. Listener only let Vilkas and Ria in that one time because she needed their help.” Cicero stopped talking and closed the gap between them, hugging Kodlak.

“Cicero will visit,” Cicero whispered. “Cicero will come and see you in the new year! Maybe Cicero will spend time with you and Ria for longer than usual, a whole week maybe! Yes?”

“Yes, you'd be welcome,” Kodlak said, patting Cicero on the back and returning the hug. “It'd be good to see you.”

Cicero nodded and the two men hugged for a bit longer before Cicero let him go, and started assisting with the packing, exclaiming how his poor father should not have to carry all this stuff to the carriage by himself and where were the twins, hmm? Kodlak listened, and felt the dead weight in his heart shift just a little as he watched his son. All right, perhaps he'd fathered an assassin who consorted with an entire kingdom run by necromancers. But his son could also be very affectionate and caring when he wanted, and watching him did have a way of bringing a smile to Kodlak's face. And so Kodlak let Cicero escort him to the carriage, with the twins and Ria joining them, all three having had a good time but glad to be going home, even if Farkas did look a little wistful about leaving Kaie behind.

Had he but known it, it was probably for the best he was leaving. Markarth was about to be the scene for another Daedra-inspired killing, and Kodlak would have wanted to be around for this one even less.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The orders were sent, and Keirine obeyed, acidly telling Logrolf he was free to go, she supposed, but to stop preaching against the gods of the country that had been so kind as to give his co-religionists a home.

Logrolf growled out a rather ungrateful response and was later seen by the ReachGuard packing his things and running south on the King's Road to Markarth.

Within minutes of hearing this news, Keirine changed into a raven and took flight from her altar, arriving in Markarth ahead of Logrolf and announcing to her brother that the priest was on his way.

Which meant the ReachGuard guarding the house slipped away, taking the barriers with them and leaving the house unguarded... apart from a little girl with a shawl and basket who kept to the shadows and quietly warned off the unwary, including several Reachkin children who'd heard stories and wanted to know if they were true.

“Yes,” Babette said without hesitating. “There's something in there that'll eat you up if you go in.”

“So why's King Madanach taken his soldiers away then?” one of the kids asked smugly.

“Maybe there's someone he wants to get eaten,” Babette murmured, smirking at them. “You've heard stories of the Witch-King. You know what he does to his enemies.”

Wide eyes from the kids, and then little Adara, the Redguard silversmith's daughter, spoke up.

“What, he's just going to let them walk into a house with a monster in it?”

Babette just smiled.

“Never said this man was a good person, did I?” Babette shrugged. “And Madanach's not making him walk into the house. He's walking in of his own free will, and I'm even here to warn him there's a monster in there. He walks in after that, it's his own fault. He'll either win, in which case, the monster will be gone, or he'll be dead and it won't be Madanach's fault.”

The kids exchanged glances, and the Reachfolk at least actually grinned, before one of them whispered “All Hail the Reach-King!”

“King Madanach's smart!” another, one of the girls, announced. Adara was the sole child left looking appalled.

“But he'll die!” Adara whispered. Babette smiled pityingly at her.

“Kings and Jarls have people executed all the time. Madanach's no different. At least this time he's offering the man a choice. Now go home, kids. He's coming.”

Sure enough, as the sun set and Markarth fell swiftly into shadow, night coming quickly as it always did to a city set in a bowl with the Druadachs at its back, Logrolf the Wilful made his way up along the Markarth brook, robes swishing around his feet. The kids took one look at the black robes and stern glare and ran off... but they didn't run far, all racing up to the level above and hiding behind the stone railings to listen in. Only Babette remained behind, smiling calmly up at Logrolf as he raced up to the door.

“Stand aside, girl!” Logrolf snapped. “This is no place for children!”

“This house is no place for anyone,” Babette said calmly. “You don't want to go in there. There's a monster inside. It'll kill you if you go in.”

“I know what's in there, girl, and it's hardly a match for me,” Logrolf snapped. “Run home to your parents, child, and don't stand in my way.” Elbowing her out of the way, Logrolf flung the door open and strode in. Babette watched him go before turning up to the watching children.

“Still feel sorry for him?” Babette asked, knowing what the answer would be. Adara shook her head.

“He was mean!” Adara gasped. “He just pushed you out of the way!”

“Yes,” Babette said, voice barely wavering from the same calm monotone. “And that's why King Madanach's letting him go up against the monster. You know, you really should go home. You don't want to be around for the next bit.”

The children didn't argue, and minutes later, they'd all dispersed, heading for their homes. Babette finally let her smile fade and took a deep breath before heading in. She could definitely do without witnesses for this one. Pushing the door open, she made her way in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“You don't scare me, Molag Bal!” Logrolf snapped, unafraid as he knelt in the cage. “I have won this battle before!”

Babette let her shawl fall back as she stepped into the light, making no noise as she approached the altar. Logrolf wasn't aware of her presence as yet... but Molag Bal had noted her.

“Ah, but I have my own champion now, Logrolf,” Molag Bal purred. “Behold, one of my children, come to help her father.”

“What? You?” Logrolf turned to see Babette standing there, basket clutched in her hands. The priest of Boethiah did not look impressed. “You bring a little girl to fight me? Your standards truly have fallen, Hated One.”

Molag Bal ignored the insult, continuing to purr at Babette.

“Child. Take my mace in all its rusted spitefulness. Punish the unbeliever. Make him bend to me!”

“You can't even reach that mace!” Logrolf scoffed. Babette simply placed her basket on the ground and reached for two things: an ebony dagger and a bottle of a deep red poison.

“I don't need the mace,” Babette said, coating the blade with practiced ease. Turning around, she made her way over, drew the knife and with one move, slashed at Logrolf with it. Blood poured from his arm, but Logrolf was barely wounded.

“Hah! Is that all?” Logrolf laughed. “It will take more than a simple cut to break my wi- aaaahhhh!!!” The poison had kicked in and Babette watched as Logrolf screamed in agony.

“That'll be the deathbell kicking in,” Babette said calmly. “It's mixed with a blend of oils, salt and a chemical produced by this plant from Stros M'Kai. It's agonisingly painful on an open wound. Also quite lethal to your internal organs... eventually. Of course, it helps speed the process up if it's got more than one entry way.” 

Another cut and soon Logrolf was weeping. Babette slashed him again, and another time, and a fifth cut had him curled up on the floor. And then the poison finally overcame him and Logrolf went into a series of fits before gurgling his last and dying.

Molag Bal had watched all this in silence, but as Logrolf died, Molag Bal began to laugh, howling out his amusement as the sound echoed off Dwemer stonework.

“Oh well done! Weakling mortals with their frail, limp, pathetic bodies! Here, try again.”

Reality whirled and blurred around her, and Babette sank to her knees until it stopped... and then she opened her eyes to see Logrolf sitting up, alive again and staring about him in terror.

“What... no. No!” Logrolf cried, but Molag Bal didn't seem to care.

“Again, daughter. Hurt him again.”

Babette added more poison to her knife and set to work again, and soon she had Logrolf sobbing in pain once more. It wasn't long after that when the old man finally broke, crying as he gave in, surrendering to Molag Bal's will.

“You bend to me?” Molag Bal growled. Logrolf nodded.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“You pledge your soul to me?” Molag Bal asked, predatory pleasure oozing from every syllable. A long pause and then Logrolf whimpered a reply.

“Yes.”

“You forsake the weak and pitiful Boethiah?!” Molag Bal practically roared, disdain in his voice at even having to mention his rival's name.

An even longer pause here, Logrolf not quite able to let go of his patron goddess just yet... but as Babette's fingers flickered to her knife, Logrolf let the last barrier to damnation fall.

“Yes,” he whispered, sounding utterly broken, and even a vampire assassin could manage a bit of empathy for someone so completely lost to hope.

A pause as even Molag Bal seemed to appreciate the enormity of the moment and then the Dark Lord spoke.

“You're mine now, Logrolf,” Molag Bal growled. “Here. Daughter. Put him out of his misery. I'll deal with him myself in Coldharbour.”

Babette said nothing, only drawing her blade and grabbing Logrolf by the robes, slitting his throat in one practiced motion and letting him bleed out.

“Is that it? Was that enough?” Babette finally said, silently hoping it would be, that she could finally leave and put this all behind her. Mercifully, Molag Bal granted her wish.

“Yes, little one. Well done. You did well. Here, take my mace, restored to its full power. Maybe your Listener would like it. She chose well in sending you after all. She is perhaps more formidable than I assumed. Tell her the Dark Brotherhood need fear no trouble from me.”

The mace had transformed from a rusty brown to a gleaming green and black monstrosity, and the shackles holding it in place opened it, allowing it to float out, levitating towards Babette and hovering in front of her. Babette took the mace, thanked Molag Bal and placed it in her basket. It was heavy but a vampire could manage it. Just about.

“And now I must be going. I have a soul in Coldharbour to deal with,” Molag Bal gloated. “Take care of the house while I'm gone!” Laughing ghoulishly, Molag Bal's voice faded away, and Babette felt the atmosphere in the house lighten considerably as his presence vanished. The spikes shrank back into the altar, which had gone quiet. It was inactive... for now. Babette had no intention of waiting around to see that change. Gathering her things, she headed for the surface.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The ReachGuard had descended as soon as Babette emerged from the house, Delphine and Cicero there with them to make sure Babette was all right. Possession checks passed, Babette was able to tell Delphine it was over, giving her the Mace of Molag Bal. Delphine eyed it nervously and promptly gave it to Argis. 

Then it was all back to the Keep for a full debrief, after which Madanach shook Delphine by the hand, and Babette too, and large amounts of coin and jewels changed hands. Madanach even consented to a cuddle from Cicero, who'd been very excited to hear all the gory details and wanted to know if he could see the shrine. Delphine vetoed that idea, but Madanach did agree Eola could have the corpse if she wanted. He really didn't want to know what the experiment she was performing involved but if it made her happy...

Then the Dark Brotherhood were on their way, and if Cicero was a bit down over his kin having to leave so quickly, the assassins' guild had overall had a very good few days. Which just left Madanach clearing up the mess. The corpse had been carted away, and the rumour put out that Logrolf had been the cultist performing Daedric rites in the house and causing the haunting that had claimed Erikur's life. The citizens of Markarth didn't entirely believe this was the whole truth, but most were relieved to have an end to the matter. Madanach, however, knew better, which is why he was standing in the basement of the abandoned house, staring at the inert altar, his sister by his side.

“Well, it's inactive, that's a relief,” Madanach sighed. “I don't want to have to go through all this again. Delphine's fees are expensive.”

“Keep this thing here, and one day you will,” Keirine replied. “If not you, your descendants. Do not think he's gone forever, Madanach. Alessia's blood sealed the Veil, but as long as there's a shrine here, Bal can come back.”

“I know,” Madanach said sombrely, staring at the hateful thing. Sacrificing criminals on it had been fun at first, but after a while it had started to weigh on him, and then he'd started running out of victims. In a way, the timing of the invasion had been something of a mercy.

“Then do something about it,” Keirine hissed. “You know the rite, you were a worshipper once. Banish the shrine back to Oblivion and Bal is gone from the Reach.”

“Yeah,” Madanach said quietly, remembering rituals past, and wondering what Bal's reaction would be to the loss of his shrine. Molag Bal might not be able to do anything directly, but he could certainly manage indirect action. Keirine was not slow in picking up his reluctance.

“ _Madanach!_ ” Keirine growled, feathers ruffling as she bared her pointed teeth at him. “You promised me! When you first joined that cult, you swore it was a means to an end. When you started the rebellion, you promised me you'd leave the cult once you became King, that maybe you'd even outlaw it! Now it's down to one shrine, you have the throne, and you do nothing??”

“Dammit, Keirine, I'd said I'd think about it!” Madanach snapped, and Keirine's eyes narrowed. Oh good, now he'd upset her. That was all he needed, his own sister reconsidering her loyalty. All the same, the risk to his kingdom... and then he recalled the kingdom next door and its pretty High Queen, awaiting him in Solitude. Elisif. Elisif, who'd told him in no uncertain terms that she could live with his past but it couldn't bleed into his future if he still wanted to be her husband. And he did. He very definitely did.

Madanach thought of Elisif's tearful, furious face if he admitted to her he'd let the shrine be, and he couldn't lie to her, he just couldn't. In the end, that decided him.

“All right,” Madanach sighed. “Bring the goat and the soul gems. Let's get this rite under way.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Hreinn started up as the cell door opened, and the guards came for him. It wasn't that they'd treated him badly – he'd been fed, slops cleaned out regularly, his family visiting him daily, the guards being all rather nice to him, many of them even congratulating him on taking out a Nord thane. But they were still in service to King Madanach and despite their personal opinions, they'd follow his orders. That it had taken this long for the king to summon him... Hreinn wasn't sure whether this was a good thing or not, but it had to happen eventually.

To his surprise, they bound his hands and took him not to the keep but to a small interrogation room in the barracks itself, sitting him down at a table with a magelight practically blinding him and telling him not to make any sudden moves around the King. Then the door opened and King Madanach himself strode in wearing his fine blue robes said to be a replica of those worn by Miraak the First Dragonborn. Hreinn couldn't help but shudder at the sight. Madanach might be getting old but he was still a very intimidating man, and Hreinn could feel his skin prickling at the magical power rolling off him.

“That'll be all,” Madanach growled as he slid into the seat opposite Hreinn. “You're all dismissed. Not you, bion.”

“Sir, is this wise...” one of the guards began, and Madanach glared at her.

“Do I need to repeat myself? You're. All. Dismissed. You and you can wait outside, feel free to intervene if you hear screaming.”

Hreinn said nothing, waiting as the guards filed out, silently terrified and wondering whose screams might bring the guards running back. Once he'd have placed money on his own, but he'd killed a nobleman recently, hadn't he? Could he take on Madanach?

Hreinn felt fairly certain the answer was no. Madanach was older but a lifetime of fighting and manual labour had left him wary in a way Erikur hadn't been, and he had magic at his disposal. Hreinn really didn't like his chances, and while the guards had all laughed and joked and been proud of him for murdering a Nord, he knew without a doubt that if he attacked Madanach, it'd be death for him. So he lowered his eyes and waited for the King to speak.

When he did, his voice was far gentler than Hreinn had ever expected. 

“Well, bion, how have you been faring? My guards have been treating you well, I hope?” Madanach asked, sounding almost kind. Hreinn could only nod.

“What are you going to do?” Hreinn whispered. “Is Queen Elisif very angry? Oh gods, am I being sent to Solitude for trial? What are they going to do to me??”

Madanach reached out and touched his bound wrist, making little soothing noises, actually smiling.

“In reverse order, nothing, no, not really - she never liked him anyway, and that's why I'm here. I've read your statement, boy, and heard from witnesses, and I know what you encountered in that house. I know you didn't have a choice. It wasn't your fault.”

“I killed him!” Hreinn blurted out, remembering everything, a voice in his head, terrified he was going to die, prayers to the Eight but they did nothing, then Erikur coming at him, fists pummeling him, trying to fend him off, Erikur pinning him down and raising a knife, and only by sheer luck Hreinn managed to hit him with a nearby chair then grab a mace from the table and hit him again before he could recover... and again... and again until Erikur wasn't moving, and then that voice congratulating him... Hreinn felt nauseous at the memory, visibly shuddering... and then magic was pouring into his arm from the hands of the Reach-King. Hreinn felt his emotions settle, warm, calm magic filling him up and washing over him, and he couldn't help but gasp.

“What did you do?” he whispered.

“Calming spell, you look like you needed it,” Madanach said quietly. “Yes, bion, you did, but I'm guessing you didn't have a lot of choice?”

Hreinn shook his head, but the guilt didn't ease. Mainly because he knew how he'd felt when Erikur lay dead at his feet, for those few seconds before horror and revulsion kicked in... the feeling of having triumphed and emerged the stronger.

“I think I liked it,” Hreinn whispered. “Killing him, I mean. Sir, are you going to execute me?”

To his surprise, Madanach actually laughed quietly.

“Hardly. Hreinn, bion, I don't know if you realised this, but Thane Erikur was not a popular man. There are an awful lot of people who would shake you by the hand, and they're not all in the ReachGuard either. In fact, I heard from Elisif this morning and she's broken the news to his sister, who took it better than expected. As long as she inherits the main part of his estate, she's content and isn't seeking justice for his death. Of course, the Mournful Throne is paying compensation to her on your behalf anyway, and I'll be paying her a visit when I'm next in Solitude, but you don't need to fear legal repercussions for this. The Mournful Throne's satisfied you were acting in self-defence and to protect your sister. Here, read this. It's your official statement. You need to sign it, but once that's done, you're free to go.”

“I... what?” Hreinn managed to get out. “You're just letting me go? But I killed someone!”

“And?” Madanach said, smirking a little. “You're not the only one in this city to have done that. You're not even the only one in this room to have shed Nord blood, boy.”

Which was true but did nothing to ease Hreinn's guilt. Opening the leather folder Madanach had pushed across the table to him, Hreinn unfurled the scroll awaiting his signature... and realised this was not the statement he'd given a few days ago. His original statement had left nothing out, not the house, the voice, the orders to kill, nothing. This statement said only that Erikur, the worse for drink, had accosted Hroki, become violent when she'd objected, and Hreinn had gone to intervene. Then Erikur had attacked Hreinn, thrown him at the door of the nearby house with enough force to shake the door loose, dragged him inside and shut the door behind him, and then tried to kill him. Hreinn, with the door stuck fast and no time to wait for someone to break it down again, had apparently been left with no choice but to defend himself, with fatal consequences.

“This isn't how it happened,” Hreinn said softly. “It all sounds like just an accident. But there was a voice, and the door wasn't rusty, it was magically sealed.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Madanach countered. “People will talk and they can believe what they want. But the official version will be based on that statement, and the official version will have no talk of the supernatural. That's your official story and you'll be sticking to it. We clear on that, bion?”

Hreinn swallowed, not being the world's most natural liar. But seeing it all written down – reading this, he could almost believe it had been nothing more than a tragic accident. Maybe if he repeated it often enough, he'd believe it too.

Hand shaking, he signed the form, and Madanach took it from him with a smile, adding his own signature and a seal.

“Done,” Madanach said, satisfied. “Oh, and bion, don't worry. The First Matriarch and I have cleansed that house. The source of the trouble's gone for good. I've no intention of allowing it to return to the Reach.”

Hreinn nodded, saying nothing as Madanach produced that odd little rough knife of his and slashed Hreinn's bonds, setting him free.

“There is one other thing. If you're willing,” Madanach said softly.

“What?” Hreinn whispered. Madanach sat back, actually looking hopeful.

“You did well,” Madanach said, sounding oddly proud. “Thrown into a life or death situation and you emerged the victor. And that you were brave enough to stand up to a Nord noble to protect your sister, and do it successfully – you did better than me at your age. The Reach can use that, boy.”

“Can it?” Hreinn asked, brow furrowing. It sounded like Madanach was offering him a job but surely not...

“Absolutely,” Madanach promised. “See, Nepos has been on at me about increasing diversity in the ReachGuard, that the Nords of the Reach would feel more comfortable if there were Nords in the guards again. Me, I'm not so sure, and I'm definitely sure that my soldiers weren't ready for Nord comrades. But now there's you, Hreinn Thane-Killer they're calling you in the Forsworn. And they mean it as high praise. I have letters coming in daily wanting to know what happened and asking if you're getting a reward for your trouble. I'm presently having to disappoint them... but if you're willing, there's a place in the ReachGuard training programme for you.”

Hreinn stared at him, wondering if he was serious – but of course he was, Madanach didn't joke around regarding his beloved Forsworn. The pay was good, he knew that much, and all the ones who came to drink in the Hag's Rest always seemed to be having a really good time and... him? In the ReachGuard?

“You mean I'd get to learn magic,” Hreinn whispered and Madanach nodded, still smiling at him.

“Yeah, if you had the aptitude. But not everyone in the ReachGuard knows a lot of magic, skill levels vary wildly. Don't worry if you can't. Ability to shoot straight or swing a weapon will serve you if magic doesn't, and there's always a place for anyone with people skills. Protecting a city or community's different than fighting a war, and I've seen you in the inn, boy. I've seen you break up fights, talk drunks out of doing things they shouldn't, send people home when they don't want to go, and this Erikur incident's the first time anything violent's happened. You've got potential. Well? Fancy serving the Reach?”

Hreinn thought of working in the inn for the rest of his life, cleaning up spills, dealing with drunks, always putting a brave face on any slight, dealing with his parents' sniping... that last decided him.

“Yes,” Hreinn said. “I mean, I'll need to tell my parents... and say goodbye to Hroki... and pack my things... by the Eight, I don't even know what to take!”

“Don't worry about that,” Madanach said, getting up to take his leave. “You go home, enjoy the holidays, tell your kin. First Morndas after New Life, you go see Kaie at Understone Keep, she'll issue you with further instructions and get you signed up. All right, I've taken enough of your time. Guards'll be in here in a second to give you your things back. You have a good evening now.”

“Thanks sir,” Hreinn whispered, lowering his head as Madanach left, barely able to get his head round it all. He'd escaped. He was free to go. It was all behind him. Even better, he was getting out of Markarth. He wasn't entirely sure he believed Madanach's assurances that whatever had been in that house was really gone, but as long as he didn't ever have to go back in there, he'd survive.

As the guards came in and led him out to discharge him, Hreinn finally felt able to relax.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, in a castle far to the north, someone else's night was going less well.

“Master, accept this sacrifice, made in your name. Let me feel your presence, vouchsafe to me knowledge. Master, tell me of the Elder Scrolls!”

Candles flickered, and for once, Molag Bal made his presence felt.

“I am busy, Harkon. I have a new soul to torment and you are distracting me. Is this Auriel's Bow again? I have told you before, it is in a temple of the Aedra. I am prevented from detecting its location.”

“I know, I know,” Harkon gasped, raising glowing orange eyes from the sacrifice victim draped over Molag Bal's altar. “Forgive me, my lord, but... I was hoping you knew more about where the Elder Scrolls were...”

“ _SILENCE!!!_ ” Molag Bal roared, voice echoing across the cathedral Harkon had built to his master. “You imbecile. You think to bribe me with the death of worthless fools when a vampire turned before she even reached adulthood won my favour with the punishment of a rival's priest? I should take my blood from you and give it to her, she might actually do something worthwhile with it.”

“No, my lord, I'm sorry, please forgive me, I'll do anything!” Harkon cried, flinching back from the altar. Molag Bal went quiet, seeming to relent at least a little.

“Anything?” the Daedra purred, and Harkon had heard this voice before. That was the same voice he'd heard Bal use when he'd demanded Serana and Valerica be the next sacrifices, the price for the immortality Harkon craved. Harkon had paid it then. He'd not changed much.

“Anything,” Harkon said quietly. Molag Bal laughed quietly.

“In that case, I can tell you a little. The Vigil of Stendarr are digging into what does not concern them. Find them. Stop them. Find what they're seeking and you'll know more. And as for the Elder Scrolls... the Dragonborn used one to fight Alduin. Find him, find his Scroll. You might start looking at the royal court of the Reach. The Witch Kingdom's gone apostate. When you have the bow, you might consider starting your rise to world domination there.”

The dark cloud hovering around the shrine winked out of existence and Harkon knew he'd been dismissed. It didn't matter. He'd got enough to go on.

“My lord,” Garan Marethi greeted him as the lord of Clan Volkihar stepped out of the cathedral. “Was your attempt to commune with Our Father successful?”

“For once, yes,” Harkon murmured, mulling over what he'd been told. “It seems we have a few plans of action. The Vigil are up to something. Get agents out to their Hall, find out what they're researching. It may lead to one of the Scrolls. Follow it up and see where the trail leads. Oh, and Garan, when you've got the information, gather our best and kill them all. Loose ends and all that.”

“Will do,” Garan said, actually smiling at this. “What of the other leads?”

“Oh, now this is where it gets interesting,” Harkon grinned. “You've heard of the Dragonborn, haven't you?”

“Gods, who hasn't,” Garan grimaced, his mood immediately falling. “Gibbering little psychopath who leaves bodies in his wake and yet somehow managed to get into Jorrvaskr. Sire, please tell me we're not recruiting him. Or hiring him. Or fighting Jorrvaskr. The Vigil are one thing, but the Companions are werewolves and highly trained warriors. We'd take significant casualties.”

“Yes, I know,” Harkon mused. “They'll have to go eventually, of course, but they will keep until after the Tyranny of the Sun is overthrown. No, I was thinking more of the Dragonborn's other connections. He's involved with the Reach-King's daughter, isn't he?”

“Ye-es,” Garan said uneasily. “My lord, making enemies of the Reachmen sounds even less wise than attacking Jorrvaskr.”

Harkon's grin widened. “That's where you're wrong. Our lord indicated that they're presently in his bad books. They've abandoned worship of him. I think our lord would favour us if we were to start making inroads there. Get me a full report of goings on in the country, I think we might be able to use the Reachmen to get to the Dragonborn.”

Garan wasn't entirely convinced this was a good idea, but he couldn't exactly argue. He just hoped Harkon knew what he was doing.

“Anything else?” Garan asked, having a feeling Harkon had something else still bothering him.

“Yes,” Harkon said, eyes narrowing. “Molag Bal mentioned something about a child vampire having gained his favour somehow. The only one in Skyrim is that alchemist in Dawnstar, am I right?”

“That's her,” Garan said, wondering what Babette of Dawnstar had to do with anything. “Sire, what's this about?”

“Eyes on her too,” Harkon snapped. “A child vampire of a mere three centuries earns our Lord's favour while I'm left languishing and begging for scraps? That's an insult I'm not putting up with.”

“Sire,” Garan sighed, hoping Harkon would get over the slight and not order Babette killed for showing him up. He'd hate to have to be the one to explain to Feran that one of his major suppliers had been killed by his clanmates. But planning an operation against the Reach, one intended to ensnare the famously bloodthirsty Jester Dragonborn himself... now that might just be a campaign to go down in vampire legend. He couldn't have known how right he'd be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's Harkon at last! In the story, it's going to take a while for his plans to bear fruit, but in real time, that means next chapter we get to see the questline begin in style. I'm deviating from canon slightly, mainly by adding extra bits, but who wants to read an exact rewrite anyway?


End file.
